


Yours, Mine, and...Ours?

by UAgirl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/M, Past Abuse, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:31:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5614018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UAgirl/pseuds/UAgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was tired of worrying about what other people thought.  Carol divorces Ed and grabs life by the balls.  Or maybe just a certain Dixon male.  *insert evil grin here*  Note:  Rating subject to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first meeting...

Yours, Mine, and…Ours?

 

xx1xx

 

There was a cricket in her bedroom, a very loud, persistent, perkily chirping cricket.

Carol knew she should have abandoned any pretense of sleep more than half an hour ago, but her exhausted body plainly refused to cooperate and follow her brain's demands. Instead, she stubbornly refused to open her bleary eyes, her pillow firmly pulled over her head in a desperate attempt to muffle the obnoxious noise while she contemplated various methods of murdering the needlessly cheery insect, should she ever find the energy to climb out of bed and leave her heap of blankets behind. Her traitorous bladder finally compelled her to fling her pillow aside, and Carol groaned as she pushed herself up on her elbows.

Unexpectedly harsh sunlight spilled in through her new bedroom's tiny, unadorned window.

"God, what time's it?" Lifting a shielding hand to her brow, she frowned and fumbled for the phone she'd finally exiled to the night stand around three in the morning after a marathon session of texting with Andrea. When her bloodshot eyes finally made out the time, she bolted out of bed and snatched yesterday's jeans off of the floor, her daughter's name erupting from her lips in a panic. "Sophia! Sophia, wake up! Mommy overslept!"

The en suite bathroom was cramped and disorganized, the air stale despite the good scrubbing she'd given it with bleach the day before. Her meager supply of cosmetics was scattered across the counter and a pile of dirty laundry mocked her from the corner.

Carol barely spared her appearance a second glance, stowing a tube of lip gloss into her back pocket before jamming her toothbrush into her mouth. Stuffing her bare feet into a tattered pair of sneakers, she hurried through her bedroom, pulling the first relatively unwrinkled shirt she found from a cardboard box and shrugging it on over the thin camisole she'd slept in.

Sophia's bedroom was empty, the little lamp beside her bed still slowly rotating and casting faint constellations across the ceiling.

Carol crossed the room to turn it off, bending to snag the tiny pink backpack from her daughter's butterfly chair and zipping it closed. The bathroom across the hall was likewise empty, and she paused long enough to rinse the toothpaste from her mouth and gather her hopeless tangle of curls into a loose ponytail with one of Sophia's hair ties. "Sophia? Sophia, sweetie? We're running late. Mommy really needs you to…" The words on the tip of her tongue faded away when she reached the living room.

Curled up pretzel tight before the television where cartoon Alice's tears were currently rising like an ocean's tide, Sophia clutched a bowl of soggy cereal in her hands, fat tears of her own rolling down her freckled cheeks. Her neatly brushed pigtails were crooked, and she wore her favorite fairy costume, complete with purple ballet flats. She whimpered and tucked her chin close to her chest when Carol set the bowl aside and turned the television off with one touch of the remote. "I don't wanna go," she pleaded pitifully. "Don't make me go, Mommy."

"Oh, Sophia," Carol sighed, gently knuckling the hot tears away. "We talked about this." They had, just like they'd talked about everything, in terms suited to a six year-old at least. The divorce Sophia had taken in stride, had quickly adapted to with more than her fair share of relief, really. The new apartment she'd treated as an adventure. But the idea of a new school, without any of her old friends? It looked like Carol had finally found her daughter's breaking point, and anytime her baby girl cried, her heart broke as well. She felt tears well in her own eyes as she tried to be reassuring when she felt so adrift herself. "You're going to make lots of new friends. You remember Andrea's sister? She helped out last semester for credit in one of her classes. She liked it so much she wants to get a job there when she graduates. She said everyone was nice. The nicest. Besides, I know they're going to love you. How could they not?"

"You have to say that 'cause you're the mommy," Sophia pouted.

"Nope," Carol teased with a bright grin that made her damp eyes overflow. "I say it because I'm the bonafide Sophia expert. I say it because you're beautiful and smart and funny and you really know how to rock a tutu."

Sophia giggled, her cheeks flushing with pleasure instead of tears. "Mommy."

"Sophia," Carol singsonged back, blue eyes twinkling as she pulled the little girl to her feet and did a quick visual inspection. Her lips twitched as she made her decision. She likely wouldn't win the favor of many, if any, of her fellow PTA members letting Sophia leave the house dressed as she was, but that didn't matter so much to her as her daughter's happiness. She was tired of worrying about what other people thought, and she knew Sophia wouldn't stay this little and innocent forever. She quirked a brow at her daughter and motioned for her to turn around, helping her slip the backpack over her narrow shoulders. Leaning down, she laughingly whispered into Sophia's ear. "No time to say hello, goodbye." Sophia's answering giggles were precious music to her ears.

"We're late, we're late, we're late!"

~*~

 

Principal Jacqui, as she'd introduced herself, was warm, gracious, and instantly made Sophia feel welcome, fussing over her costume and inquiring after Tinker Bell, her most favorite fairy of all fairies.

Carol wanted to hug her for putting a smile on her baby girl's face, an urge she found increasingly hard to contain as the pair engaged in a lively debate on the subject. She knew she'd done a poor job of concealing her emotions when the thin woman stood tall and took Sophia by the hand, leading her toward her office's open door.

"Now then, Little Miss. Why don't you keep Olivia company while I talk over a few things with your mama?"

Sophia glanced warily over her shoulder, for Carol's permission or comfort, she wasn't sure which. The friendly secretary, though, easily won her over, and her daughter's little hand flapped at her in goodbye as the door closed behind the twosome, their voices muffled but still audible.

"I like your glasses."

"Why thank you," Olivia could be heard responding, obviously pleased. "Would you like a cookie, Sophia? I have a secret stash."

"Olivia doesn't offer her chocolate to just anyone, Mrs. Peletier. Your daughter must be special indeed," Principal Jacqui laughed softly. Quickly sobering at the tearful smile she received for the comment, she came around to the front of her desk and pulled the chair next to Carol around until they were facing each other, engulfing her chilled hands in her own warm ones and squeezing them softly.

"Please," Carol sniffled. "Call me Carol."

"Only if you call me Jacqui."

Carol beamed at her. "My lawyer said this school was one of King County's best. I think I can see why. You really care, don't you?" She gently dabbed at her tears with the Kleenex offered to her, murmuring her thanks.

"Andrea's a dear friend," Jacqui replied with an answering smile. "And we aren't just one of the best schools in King County. We're the best school in King County. There isn't one member of my staff that I wouldn't trust with my baby boy. Course, my Noah's a junior at the high school now, not so much a baby anymore. They grow up so fast, Carol. Too fast. That's why I fully support letting them be little. If Sophia wants to come to school dressed as Cinderella tomorrow, she has my blessing."

Carol ducked her head and laughed. "Sophia likes to play games on my phone. I haven't had it very long at all. Ed never allowed…." She swallowed thickly and glanced up, uncomfortable with letting such personal information slip, but Jacqui's expression hinted at only kind understanding. "I haven't had it very long," she continued. "It takes me ten minutes to type one text message, but Sophia has it all figured out already. She must have changed the settings on my alarm." Her lips twitched with a smile equal parts sheepish and guilty. "I plotted that nonexistent cricket's untimely demise for over an hour before I finally gave up."

Jacqui chuckled quietly.

"We were hopelessly late, and she was so upset. So much has changed for her, for us both, in such a short time. So when she wanted to dress as a fairy…"

"You let her dress as a fairy," Jacqui patted her hand warmly and reclaimed her feet. She turned and stretched her arm, inching a thicker than normal beige folder close with her fingertips. Opening it up, she perused the first couple of pages for a moment before closing it again and handing it over to Carol.

Carol felt heat creep into her cheeks as she scanned the file. Along with Sophia's past test results, copies of her vaccinations, and general information about her baby girl, there were notes, scribbles in the margins that hinted at a suspected troubled home life. The realization that her carefully guarded secret hadn't been much of a secret and her efforts had been little more than a smoke screen tightened Carol's throat with shame, and she found herself powerless to respond when Jacqui softly called her name. She closed the file, unable to stomach the black and white documentation of her failures as a mother, and folded her hands loosely atop it.

"May I be frank, Carol?"

Carol nodded tightly.

"When Andrea first contacted me about enrolling Sophia here, we had a long discussion. She told me about your ex-husband and your long history of domestic abuse. She explained Sophia's trust issues with men. She never meant it as a betrayal of your confidence," Jacqui calmly told Carol when she attempted and failed to hide her surprise. "She thought I could help you better if I knew the whole story, and I feel like she did the right thing telling me what she did. Ed Peletier was, no Ed Peletier is, a scumbag of the highest order. Your daughter deserves better than him in her life, you deserve better than him in your life, and you should be commended for the steps you've taken toward a better path."

"Thank you," Carol hoarsely offered, pushing a stray curl behind her ear with shaking fingers.

Jacqui acknowledged her gratitude with the slightest of nods. "That being said, I think we would both agree Sophia needs to learn not all men are cut from the same mold. That's why I've taken the liberty of placing her in Mr. Williams's class. He's a favorite amongst the faculty and children alike." When Carol looked like she was going to protest, she rushed to explain, "He might come across as intimidating to her at first. He used to play in the NFL. But he's nothing more than a giant teddy bear, and you can tell him I said that. The man has a marshmallow heart, and it's my personal opinion that he's an excellent candidate to teach Sophia. In more ways than one," she stated pointedly. Before she could say anything more, the phone on her desk rang, Olivia's extension lighting up, and Jacqui stabbed at it with a manicured fingernail.

"He's here," the secretary's voice crackled over the speaker.

"The man also has impeccable timing," Jacqui disconnected the phone with dancing eyes. "Come with me. I'll make the introductions."

 

~*~

True to Jacqui's description, Tyreese Williams was a giant among men, a gentle giant if his first interaction with her daughter could be taken at face value. Some long buried instinct told Carol it could. She couldn't help but smile when the big man squatted in front of her daughter and offered up his mammoth paw of a hand.

"Enchanted to meet you, my fairy princess. I'm Mr. Williams."

"My name's Sophia," Sophia all but whispered, knotting her fingers together and pressing them into the folds of her colorful skirt. Her eyes never left her feet as she leaned heavily into Carol's side.

Warm brown eyes shifted their focus to her, and Carol's smile widened, a pink blush blooming on her cheeks as that same hand closed around her own and a gentlemanly kiss was pressed against her cool flesh.

"Enchanted to meet you as well, Fairy Princess Sophia's mother."

He gave her a sly wink over the top of Sophia's head when her daughter tried to muffle her giggles against the worn fabric of her shirt, and Carol exchanged a thankful look with Jacqui at the welcome sound. "Just Carol."

"Just Carol," Tyreese mulled it over appreciatively. "I like it. It has a nice ring to it."

"No," Sophia rebutted with bright eyes. "Her name is just Carol."

The corners of the teacher's mouth curled suspiciously, but he kept a straight face as he shrugged and knowingly replied, "Just Carol."

Sophia groaned, but a helpless giggle slipped free at the unrepentant, teasing grin on the man's face. "You're being silly."

"I'm being silly," Tyreese echoed in agreement, climbing to his feet and offering his big hand to Sophia once more. "That a problem, Fairy Princess Sophia?"

Sophia threw her head back in exaggerated exasperation, but there was a matching grin on her face when she fitted her tiny hand in the hand presented to her. "It's just Sophia."

"I think Just Sophia's a lovely name, my fairy princess. C'mon. There's somebody I want you to meet. Batman's visiting our class today."

Carol watched until the figures of her tiny daughter and the towering man disappeared from sight then she thanked Jacqui again. Call it a gut feeling, but something told her it wouldn't be the last time.

 

~*~

Once Sophia was settled and her short pick up list noted, approved, and filed safely in Olivia's tall filing cabinet, Carol found herself at the community college in the next town over, a pitiful stack of papers constituting the totality of her previous (all too brief) college experience sitting across from her in the passenger seat. A peek in her rearview mirror confirmed what she already knew; her hair was still a hopeless case. Taking it down, she hastily finger combed it and coiled the curls into as tight of a bun as she could manage before replacing Sophia's hair tie and biting her lip at her harried appearance. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her naturally fair skin was unusually pale in the afternoon sun, making her normally faint freckles more prominent. Frowning disappointedly, she dug the forgotten lip gloss out of her pocket and attempted to paint some life (and some much needed confidence) back into her downtrodden countenance. One more look in the mirror and a sigh of disappointment and Carol was pushing the door open, pulling her purse onto her shoulder.

The Registrar's Office was buzzing with activity, students freshly out of high school everywhere, in every line.

Looking at their baby faces, Carol felt ancient, old enough to be a mother to more than one of them despite the fact that she was barely a decade their senior. The majority of them had their noses buried in their phones; a few sported vacant, near zombified stares, their disinterest and fatigue with the whole process plain. Carol questioned her own sanity waiting in the snail-like line. She despaired of ever making it back in time to pick Sophia up from school and nearly relinquished her place more than once. When she finally made it to the head of the line, she was sorely disappointed.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. Truly, I am. But there's nothing I can do. I don't have a record of your admission, and until I do…" the mousy woman trailed off meaningfully, peering over her spectacles with squinty slate eyes.

Carol's eyes briefly fluttered shut, and she clutched her transcripts to her chest. "There must be a mistake. Dean Horvath…"

"I suggest you speak to Dean Horvath then," the woman interjected with a trace of irritability in her tone. "Now please step aside. As I'm sure you've noticed, we are very busy today. Next," she called loudly, dismissing Carol without a second thought. "Your name?" she intoned blandly.

Making her way back down the line felt like swimming upstream to Carol, and by the time she'd pushed the heavy exit doors open, the frustration she felt had her stomach in knots. Fishing her phone out of her purse, she swore softly at the time and dejectedly sought the stretch of sidewalk that would take her back to her car with tired eyes, contemplating the possibility that Andrea had been mistaken and things weren't as settled with Dean Horvath as she'd claimed. Carol hadn't taken more than two steps when she realized someone was calling her name. She gnawed on her lower lip, her brows pinched in question as an Asian student wearing a baseball cap jogged to catch up with her.

"Mrs. Peletier? Carol?" the young man queried, somewhat short of breath.

Still slightly confused, Carol gave a hesitant nod. "I'm Carol. Sorry. Do I know you?"

A small smile flitted briefly across the collegian's face before he shook his head in the negative. "You don't. I'm Glenn Rhee. I was behind you in line," he explained. "Look. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help but overhear what happened. I think I can help."

Carol's fretful expression softened into a smile. "You're sweet, Glenn, but I don't have the time…"

"Dean Horvath and I are really tight," Glenn blurted without his brain's apparent consent, his cheeks flushing immediately. "I mean I consider him a really good friend."

Carol's lips twitched at his awkwardness, and her blue eyes brightened; she liked this Glenn Rhee.

"What I'm saying," Glenn clarified miserably, rubbing his restless hands over the bill of his baseball cap, "is I think I can help. I know I can help. If you trust me."

Carol took pity on him and tucked her phone in her jeans pocket then smoothed out the rolled edges of her paperwork. "Introduce me to this really good friend of yours."

 

~*~

Making good on his word, Glenn had escorted her to Dean Horvath's office and the man himself had taken things from there, amending the paperwork error and doing much to ease her anxiety. The lovely older gentleman had spoken fondly of Andrea and her sister Amy, and before Carol had left his office with a stack of financial aid paperwork in her hands nearly an hour later, she was a newly enrolled part-time student. She was so happy she wrapped Glenn up in a spontaneous hug just outside the stately old brick building.

"You dating MILFs now, Pizza Boy? Wait 'til I tell Maggie."

"Can it Monroe," Glenn groaned, taking two gigantic steps back from Carol and looking anywhere but in her inquiring blue eyes. "And don't talk about Carol like that," he added as an immediate afterthought to his taller, more chiseled counterpart.

"MILF?"

The question caused the scarlet blush on Glenn's cheeks to deepen even further.

The reaction further endeared him to Carol, and she smiled gently at him while respecting his need for space. "Do I even want to know?"

Glenn vigorously shook his head no, shyly lifting his gaze to meet hers as she quizzed him further.

"Maggie your girlfriend?"

Another shake of Glenn's head earned another question from Carol.

"Do you want her to be?" She laughed softly when he caught himself mid-nod and looked at her semi-accusingly.

"You should rethink the nursing program," Glenn muttered, falling into step beside her as she searched out her car for the second time in as many hours. "Besides," he lamented in an equally low voice as they neared her embattled Honda, "Maggie Greene is way out of my league."

"Somehow I doubt that." Carol reached over and gave his hat a playful nudge so she could look into his eyes. "Thank you, Glenn. You've helped me more than you know. If I can ever return the favor, consider it done. Maybe a study group?"

Glenn's lips curled, and his dark eyes sparkled. "Two different majors. I'm a gaming nerd. Computer programming seemed like the only logical choice. Not likely we'll have any classes in common, but I'll be sure to let you know."

"Seriously," Carol said, reaching into her purse and tearing off the bottom half of her grocery list. She scribbled her phone number on the scrap of paper and folded Glenn's hand around it. "Anything I can do, don't hesitate to call."

"You don't owe me anything," Glenn protested, stuffing the number in his pocket anyway.

Carol's eyes crinkled with a fondness that wholly surprised her. "I'll be the judge of that." Taking her keys from her purse, she unlocked the car door and leaned lightly on it. "I better go. Sophia's school lets out soon, and I have less than an hour to make it back."

"Sophia your daughter?"

Carol answered in the affirmative, lowering herself behind the wheel and securing her seat belt across her slim hips before glancing back up at her newfound friend. "She's in the first grade."

Glenn beamed, looking more at ease than he'd been in the entirety of their short time knowing each other. "My youngest sister's not much older than her. First grade was the best. Things were so much simpler then."

A girlish giggle sprang forth from Carol's mouth, and she smiled indulgently, agreeing with him even though her own memories of that particular time in her life seemed so far away now. Oh, if he only knew. She wondered if he'd be lamenting his lost twenties when he reached the precipice of his thirties like her. Cranking up her car, she turned the faulty air conditioner on full blast. "Maybe I'll see you around. Bye, Glenn."

"Nice meeting you, Carol."

"Nice meeting you."

 

~*~

Sophia was chattering a mile a minute as they wandered the aisles of the discount grocery store down the street from their duplex, her play-worn pigtails practically vibrating in her excitement. "And then Mr. Williams told Penny Blake she had to sit down because her daddy ain't the Governor yet."

"Isn't," Carol distractedly corrected as she read the label on a box of fish sticks before grimacing and putting them back in the freezer compartment. "He isn't the Governor."

Sophia took a deep breath and continued her story, beginning with yet another iteration of And then. "And then Mr. Williams told Penny Blake she had to sit down because her daddy isn't the Governor yet, and she started to cry and Meghan Chambler gave Penny the last brownie in her lunch box."

"That was nice," Carol murmured, adding a carton of milk to their odd assortment of groceries. As a last minute addition, she plucked a cheap bottle of red wine from a shelf and tucked it behind the case of bottled water.

"Oh, Mommy," Sophia's brown eyes lit up. "Is that grape juice? I want some. Please."

The pouty lower lip made its expected appearance, and Carol reacted predictably. "Sure thing, Sweetie." Smiling and snatching up a small jug of grape juice nearby, she told herself the high sugar content, much like her swiped alcohol, wasn't such a bad thing in moderation. Neither was chocolate, she decided with a small shrug as they made their way down the last aisle, picking up a bag of chocolate covered almonds; at least it was dark chocolate. Who the hell cared anyway? Ed had never allowed chocolate in the house unless he wanted it, and he'd never ever shared. "What happened next? Oh, I almost forgot. How did your meeting with Batman go?" she asked, steering their cart toward one of only two registers open, the lines long and winding as a consequence.

'Batman's' real name was Carl Grimes, and in Sophia's own words, he was her new, "Bestest ever friend!" The boy's father was a local sheriff's deputy and that made him way cooler than Batman in Sophia's eyes. "Because policemen are nice, Mommy."

The comment earned them both a noncommittal grunt from the store patron in front of them that had Carol narrowing her eyes at the man's broad shoulders. "Yes, they are, Sweetie," Carol belatedly agreed.

"Meghan said her aunt Tara is studying to be to a police officer. Meghan said she was a puppet."

Sophia's innocent mix-up of words procured an amused snort from their fellow shopper, and Carol glared at his back as she edged her cart closer with the forward shift of the line. "I think your friend Meghan meant cadet, not puppet. A police cadet."

"Had it right the first time, Kid."

Caught off guard by the growl of the stranger's voice, Carol barely registered the fleeting glimpse afforded her of his blue gray eyes and the blond scruff of his chin. As it was, she managed just enough eye contact to shoot him a look of censure and refocused her attention on her confused daughter. Before Sophia could ask the questions just dying to spill from her tongue, she skillfully redirected her. "What about Mr. Williams? Did you like your new teacher?"

"Uh huh." Sophia positively lit up. "Carl said Mr. Williams used to be famous. I asked him if I could have his autograph. Mr. Williams just laughed and told me I'd have to wait 'til my first test. Then he told me if I was lucky I wouldn't get an autograph at all." The smile on her freckled face gradually morphed into a puzzled frown. "I'm not sure what he meant, Mommy."

Carol smiled, and her eyes unconsciously drifted toward the stranger again. A peculiar tingle swept up and down her spine then when their gazes locked, and she cupped her hand over the damp nape of her neck, glancing back down at Sophia in an effort to avoid staring at the attractive curve of his mouth. Any explanation she might have offered Sophia was lost when the buggy behind her bumped insistently against her butt.

"Wake your ass up, Lady. Line's moving."

Sophia's little mouth dropped open, and she stared up at her with round eyes. "Mommy," she gasped.

Carol reassured her daughter with a controlled shake of her head. "It's alright, Sweetie. Look," she pointed out. "We're next in line."

"Look, Mommy!" Sophia bounced on the balls of her feet as the rows of candy appeared before them. "Skittles! Can we get some, Mommy?"

Carol sighed. "Sophia." Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed Mr. Monosyllable place a six pack of beer onto the conveyor belt and reach into his back pocket for his wallet. Her cheeks flamed as the action drew her attention to his narrowed hips and his tight, muscular backside. She was pretty sure steam was rising from her skin as she did everything in her power not to look directly at him; she had the sinking feeling she'd already been caught in the act.

"Pretty please?" Sophia entreated, clasping her small hands together and offering up her best, most angelic smile.

"Jesus Christ," the scantily clad harpy behind them put forth her two cents. "Buy the kid the damned skittles."

Flustered, Carol moved to do just that, inhaling sharply when a large hand covered her smaller hand almost immediately. Long, blunt fingers skimmed from her wrist to her fingers, and goosebumps erupted all over body in the wake of the careless, callused touch. She echoed Sophia's mew of disappointment when those oil smudged fingers stole the last bag of rainbow colored sugary happiness right from under her nose and proceeded to offer it up to the cashier.

"Would you like a receipt, Mr. Dixon?" the awestruck teenaged girl stammered, reading his name off of the piece of plastic in her hands before handing it back to him.

"Naw. Don't need no bag neither." Hooking his fingers through the cardboard handle, he tucked the six pack beneath his opposite arm and sauntered away. He'd taken no more than ten steps before he turned around and called out to her.

"Think fast, Sweetheart."

The bag of candy hit Carol in the chest before she had time to fully react, and Sophia's childish giggles were lost in the haze of the sexy smirk directed Carol's way.

"Next time you're buying."

"Goddamn," breathed the harpy.

Carol had to say she wholeheartedly agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flip side. Daryl, before and after that meeting with Carol. 
> 
> Could alternatively be called, "The Many Faces of Daryl Dixon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating upped for Daryl's potty mouth. Appearances by multiple other characters. Brief Daryl/Other that surprised even me. 
> 
> Flashback portions of the chapter denoted by **.

Yours, Mine, and…Ours?

 

xx2xx

 

**The phone call came in the middle of the night.

Pummeling fists damn-near beat the door in before Daryl had a chance to roll over and rub the sleep from his eyes. An unconscious smirk twitched at his mouth as he listened to his bunk-mate grumble and stumble his way across the room, and the dim light that poured in when Oscar yanked the door open might as well have been the high noon sun because its effect was just as blinding. Daryl's scowl was deadly when he recognized that little snake Andrew from the galley; sleep, actual, honest to goodness restful sleep, on this swaying metal death trap was something he was rarely successful in attaining, and to have this little shit interrupt it? He was pissed. He didn't trust the little fucker as far as he could throw him, and that happened to be pretty far. Hopping down from his bunk, Daryl hissed as his bare feet met the cold floor. "You best have a damned good reason for busting up in here, Boy."

An ugly sneer twisted the young man's mouth, and his resentful eyes drifted downward to Daryl's clenched right fist. "Why? I interrupt your Friday night date?" He stumbled backward a bit when Oscar's meaty hand shot out to push at his bony shoulder in annoyed warning. 

"Dumbass. You asking for it." The whites of Oscar's eyes gleamed in the darkness as he showed their rude, unwanted guest his back and returned to his bunk. "He's yours, Dixon. Just don't leave too much blood on the floor." 

Daryl huffed out something vaguely resembling a laugh, taking Oscar's place at the door and leaning one naked shoulder against the jam as he matched the punk's sneer with a curl of his own lip. When he noticed the way his narrow eyed gaze was drawn to the devil tattoo on his upper right arm, he raised his hand to the back of his head and scratched just to give the kid a better look. It was a small but satisfying victory when the kitchen grunt took a healthy step backward; hell, Daryl almost wanted to smile, but he still had a bone to pick and pick it he would. Later. He'd already wasted too much time on this mini-pissing contest. "Look," he sighed heavily, tiredly. "We both know patience ain't my strong suit, 'specially where your scrawny ass is concerned. I can think of plenty of people I'd rather have a midnight rendezvous with, and you, you slimy little shit, are hovering somewhere down at the bottom. You got something to say, you just spit it out so I can get back to my beauty rest." Oscar snorted somewhere behind him, and Daryl had to smile, just a little barely there thing really and just one side of his mouth at that, but it was a smile nevertheless. 

"Ain't nobody gets between a pretty boy and his beauty rest." 

"You damn right," Daryl deadpanned. Oscar wasn't finished though; that was one thing he'd learned to appreciate about his roommate after all these years. Usually, the big man was the strong, stoic, mostly silent type. His next mumbled words reminded Daryl that a sly smartass lurked beneath that veneer. 

"So you and Dixon wrap it up, and let me get back to mine." 

Andrew's sneer was briefly replaced with something halfway between a smile and a grimace. His expression exhibited nothing but renewed scorn, though, when Daryl suggested they take their little chat outside, and the heavy door swung shut. 

Daryl crossed his arms across his chest and flexed his biceps in a clear show of intimidation. "Quit dickin' around and talk." 

The boy opened his mouth, no doubt, to give a snide response, but he must have rediscovered some shred of common sense and merely said, "You got a phone call." 

Daryl dropped his arms with a roll of his eyes. "That your reason for showing your ugly mug 'round here?" Even as he spoke, his gut clenched with worry. Outside phone calls on the rig were usually reserved for emergencies, and he could count on one hand the number of people left in the whole wide world that even gave enough fucks about him to make the effort. Something was wrong. Still, he turned around and put his palm on the door. "Piece of advice, Boy. Scram." Daryl let his forehead thud lightly against the door in response to what came next. 

"Some dude. Claims he's your brother." 

"Ain't got no brother." The lie physically hurt with the telling of it, and Daryl let his head fall just a little harder against the door before swearing and gritting out an order. "Wait. Don't go nowhere. Just wait." 

That oddball engineer Porter was in the lounge as they walked through, watching reruns of The Dukes of Hazzard in some kind of hallucinogenic trance. The little shit's fellow thug in arms, Tomas, watched them pass with ill-concealed contempt in his mean, beady eyes. Tobin looked up from his nightly puzzle to spare them both a nod. 

"Finally," Abraham groused, a long hallway and a couple of flights of stairs later. His blue eyes cut over to Andrew then landed back on Daryl. "I was afraid you'd deep-sixed his ass." 

Daryl took the phone from the burly man's outstretched hand, damn-near vibrating with dread as he did so. The red headed driller wisely ushered everyone out of the room with him as he left, including Andrew; Daryl was grateful for the privacy. He held the phone to his ear for a long time, just listening to his brother breathing over the shoddy satellite connection until Merle's whiskey rough rasp drifted over the crackling static. 

"It's me, Darylina." 

Daryl's heartbeat picked up, and his palms started to sweat. His gruff response didn't hold as much bite as he'd like; it was too damned good to hear the asshole's voice. "Ain't got time for your shit, Merle." 

Merle's answering cackle was more than a little strained. "That any way to talk to your blood kin?" Daryl's prolonged silence had his forced merriment dying down. "Guess I deserve that." 

"You off the pills?" Daryl closed his eyes tightly when his brother evaded the simple, straightforward question and raked a hand through his hair before bracing it against the wall. "You're a real piece of work. You know that, Merle?" 

"Don't," Merle sighed. "It ain't like that. I'm tryin', dammit." 

"Just like you were trying the last time they pumped your stomach?" Daryl snapped. "The time before that? I done told you…if you ain't off the pills, we don't got nothing else to say to each other." For the longest time, Merle didn't speak, and Daryl's thumb hovered over the button that would disconnect the call; in the end, he couldn't be the one to say goodbye. In resignation, he finally ended the standoff and breathed out a pained question. "What do you want from me, Merle?" Again, his elder brother avoided the question, and Daryl felt his anger tick up another degree. He grit his teeth as Merle went off on a new tangent. 

"You ain't asked about Bo." 

"I don't want to talk about Bo, Merle." 

"That Bo's a fine huntin' partner. Even quieter than you. Has a particular fondness for squirrel huntin', that one. Just last week…" 

Daryl erupted, his patience run dry. "Goddammit, Merle!" Phone clenched tightly in his shaking hand, he growled out a warning. "You don't quit pussyfooting 'round, I'm gonna hang up. Now tell me why you called before I do, and we don't talk for another five years." 

"Four." 

Pulling at his hair with his fist, Daryl barely resisted the urge to beat his head into the wall, repeatedly. "What?"

"Feels like forever," Merle rasped out. "But it's only been four." 

Might as well been forever; might as well been yesterday. Some things never changed, and Daryl was embarrassed to find he wasn't above pleading. "I'm giving you ten more seconds, Merle. Ten. Nine. Eight. I mean it, Merle. Six." 

"Think you skipped one, Darylina." 

Merle's attempt at teasing bordered on pathetic, was half-hearted at best. Daryl ignored the sharp pang in his heart and continued his monotone countdown. "Five. Four. Three. Two more seconds, Merle," he warned, his voice cracking painfully, his thumb at the ready. He was already lowering the phone from his ear when his brother's voice stopped him, quiet but somehow louder than if he'd screamed the words. 

"I need your help, Baby Brother. I need you to come home." **

 

~*~

 

Merle's place was right where he'd said it'd be, nearly two miles off the main highway, nestled in a clearing deep in the Georgia woods.

Daryl killed the Triumph's engine and gratefully climbed off. The rough gravel road he'd traveled the last quarter mile had been hell on his back, and he'd yet to even begin to work out all the knots incurred from his unexpected road trip across three states. The fine film of dust coating his face, neck, and exposed arms combined with the slippery sheen of sweat he literally felt everywhere left Daryl feeling filthy and longing for a shower. Doubting one was in the cards anytime soon, he stretched his arms above his head, hoping to ease the kinks of his stiff and abused muscles. As he did so, he allowed himself a second, more critical look at his immediate surroundings. 

Earth tone pea gravel gradually transitioned into a walkway of polished, uneven creek stone, leading all the way to a generous covered porch. Immature yellow rose bushes framed the walkway, only a few straggly weeds poking up here and there. By no means neglected, the lawn still needed a good mowing. The house, a white clapboard, was simple and old, set against a backdrop of towering pecan trees easily a couple centuries old themselves. Farther afoot, flowering pink and white dogwoods were interspersed with the live oaks and tall Georgia pines of the woods that seemed to hug the property. Clusters of wild Cherokee rose bushes dotted the acreage as well. 

It was pretty, Daryl decided. Peaceful. With the warm Georgia breeze tickling his face and the faint, gentle rush of the distant creek playing in the background, he was surprised to realize just how much of the tension of the past week had already started to leach away from his muscles, his burdened bones. It was a different kind of isolation from the rig, a couple hundred miles out in the Gulf. Still, Daryl wasn't sure he didn't prefer the deep blue sea to this shaded oasis. Though it was nothing at all like he'd expected, there were traces of Merle everywhere he looked. 

The yellow police tape looped around the porch rails gave way easily under his hand. Broken glass crunched noisily beneath the heel of his boot. The handmade swing creaked loudly when he nudged it with his denim clad knee, groaning in protest when his tired body fell into it not even seconds later. 

Daryl kept it steady, his feet planted firmly in front of him, his legs apart. A week, and he still hadn't completely adjusted to being on solid, unmoving ground. Endless hours, days on the bike, and he craved the stillness. He cracked the first bottle of his six pack open and regarded the splintered wood of the ruined boards directly across from him as he gripped the sweating bottle tightly in his hand. With a sigh, he tipped his weary head and the bottle back and took a long pull, drinking more than half before letting the beer dangle from his loose fingertips. He let his thoughts drift, years of practice aiding him in skillfully steering them away from his brother, and soon a smile tugged insistently at the corners of his mouth. 

The red head in the grocery store had been cute, almost as cute as her chatterbox little daughter. 

Daryl was no fool; he'd felt her eyes on him. Every cell in his body had prickled in awareness of her, and that was before he caught her not so discreetly checking out his ass. He'd swiped the candy right from under her nose just to fuck with her; the near visceral reaction just touching her soft skin had elicited from him had been an unexpected shock to his system. His groin tightened just remembering the way his heart had started thundering in his ears, the way every nerve ending in his body seemed to alight with longing and heat. If the kid hadn't been there…well, it didn't bear thinking about. Daryl lifted his head, nursing the last of his beer, and watched the evening sun burn out against a deep blue Southern sky. He snorted when he realized the cloudless vista brought to mind her eyes, and he found it lacking in comparison. Fuck, it'd been too damned long if he was waxing poetical or some shit like that. He needed to get laid. No crime in admitting it. Without his meaning to, his thoughts drifted to Sasha, and the recent denouement of their longstanding arrangement. 

Sasha had been his last, too many months ago now to count. He'd called her up the night before he left New Orleans and met her for drinks at his favorite Bourbon street bar. Two beers later, jambalaya shared between them, they were laughing and carrying on like old times when she kissed him soft and sweet, patted him on the cheek, and gently ended any notions he had of inviting her into his lonely bed that night or any night after again. A new medic had started coming in to the station, she told him, and she liked him. He made her smile, he made her happy, and Daryl had recognized the shift in her immediately. The lost, pretty, angry girl he'd first hooked up with was nowhere to be found. She was hoping for a future with this Bob of hers. Something he'd never offered and never would; Daryl just wasn't capable of being that guy. Sasha didn't blame him, and he didn't hold any grudges against her. They'd parted with the promise of being friends. Still, he doubted he'd ever see her again. It was for the best. 

Just like it was for the best Daryl banish all further thoughts of the woman from the grocery store from his lust addled brain. Kids were cute and all. He might even grudgingly admit to having a soft spot for the little tykes. But he wasn't in the habit of screwing their mamas. He wasn't into relationships, period; at least not the white picket fence kinds. Navigating a relationship with a mother, single or otherwise, Daryl figured, had to be like tiptoeing through an emotional minefield, and he wanted no part of it. 

But fuck. She'd been more than cute, the red head. With her freckles and flushed skin, her wispy auburn curls kissing that graceful neck, she'd been sweetly sexy and completely unaware of it. Trim but curvy in all the right places, those faded old jeans of hers had fit her like a comfortable, well-loved second skin. 

Weren't no shame in wanting to peel those tight pants right off those pretty legs; Daryl even ceded the desire was only natural. But traveling any further down that rabbit hole could only prove disastrous, and people might not think it, but he had more sense than that. With the growing tightness of his own jeans quickly becoming an unwelcome more than a pleasant distraction, Daryl again redirected his thoughts. Absently adjusting himself, he stood up, six pack in hand as he walked slowly toward the front door and studied it in the waning evening light.

The screen on the upper half flapped loosely in the breeze; the glass on the bottom half was mostly shattered, lying in pieces scattered all about the porch. It'd have to be replaced much like the busted porch boards. 

Daryl decided he'd tackle one or both problems in the morning; one more day in lock up down at the King County jail wouldn't hurt his screw-up brother. For all Merle knew, he still hadn't made his way completely through the state of Alabama. Acting on a hunch, Daryl crouched in front of the door, brushing errant shards of glass from the welcome mat with his empty beer bottle before peeling the rubber back. With a triumphant smirk, he held up the shiny silver key. 

 

~*~

 

**It was well after three a.m., closer to four when Daryl finally stumbled into the Bed and Breakfast's courtyard, the wrought iron gate proving to be much more of a challenge than usual thanks to the harder stuff he'd imbibed once he'd parted Sasha's company and hit up a few more of the local hot spots. The quaint old Victorian loomed overhead, the muted orange light glowing from the kitchen windows a sure sign Eric, at least, was still up like the rest of the French Quarter revelers. Daryl lingered in the shadows with his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his back and sweat beading on his upper lip, at war with himself and whether he wanted to make his presence known. He liked the man well enough, but damn. He was too cheerful and chatty on a good night, and this wasn't one of those. The night had been destined to go to shit well before Sasha let him down gently, and Daryl just wanted to be alone. 

Eric, however, didn't get the memo, the awkward thud of his walking boot against the veranda giving him away long before his voice did. "Oh, honey. You smell like a brewery." 

Daryl grunted in response, his damp cheek pressed against the pillow of his folded arms on the hammock. The swaying motion was soothing, familiar after years spent on the rig, and he'd frequently sought it out on previous trips such as these, finding it difficult sometimes in the beginning days to find respite in a normal bed. 

Eric, like Daryl had known he would, didn't let his lack of conversational effort deter him, making himself right at home and placing his Sudoku puzzle book on the table in front of him. His long features looked pinched with frustration in the flickering flame of the Citronella candle, and he soon plucked the pencil clenched between his teeth from his mouth, tossing it aside with a pout. "Sometimes I swear Aaron buys these books to torture me." 

A smirk pulled at Daryl's mouth, but he said nothing right away, his whiskey soaked brain recalling the conversation he'd had with Eric's quieter, more thoughtful counterpart just that afternoon. They'd been fine-tuning the Triumph for Daryl's long journey back to Georgia when Aaron had mentioned his failed efforts to help stave off Eric's boredom while he recuperated. Solitaire had quickly grown old; word searches too elementary. As Eric's spirits had flagged and even negotiating the steep stairs to their bedroom in the cumbersome boot had become a heated bone of contention between the pair, Aaron had looked for ways to stimulate and challenge what he'd called Eric's 'brilliant' brain. Despite his own lack of sentimentality, Daryl had been impressed. He still was, and he told Eric so. "Least he's tryin'. More than most people do their whole lives." 

The pleased smile on Eric's face only lasted a second before he sobered and leaned forward. His face was cast in shadow as he studied Daryl in the pale shadow of twilight.

Man might as well been looking through him, Daryl thought as he sat up on the hammock and bent to retrieve his discarded shirt from the ground, all the while avoiding meeting Eric's glittering gaze. The damp material caught uncomfortably over his broad shoulders, and he muttered a low, harsh curse. The sympathetic understanding on Eric's angular face when he glanced up was his undoing. "The hell you starin' at?" 

"The demons on your back aren't the only ones you carry, are they?" 

Daryl snorted and folded his arms across his chest, shaking his head furiously. "You come up with that psychobabble shit on your own or you been watching too much Dr. Phil while you've been laid up on your ass? You think you know me? You don't know a damn thing, so shut your fuckin' trap." 

Eric threw up his hands in apology, his chair scraping against the veranda as he labored awkwardly to his feet. His smile was uneasy as he threw one hand down on the table to brace his wobbling weight, his retraction babbled and bordering on nonsensical in the face of Daryl's intimidating display of anger. "You've got me. It's late. And I've been bored out of my mind. Each one of those reality television shows is worse than the other, and I didn't mean a thing by it, Daryl. I swear. Would you like some spaghetti? It's left over from dinner. My God, these candles are worthless, aren't they?" 

Daryl watched Eric swat ineffectually at a buzzing mosquito with a confused frown etched between his brows, half of what he'd said already lost into the ether as his trumped up outrage suffered an abrupt death. He latched on to the only part of the man's monologue that'd made sense, hooking his thumb in the low waistband of his pants as he gave the slightest jerk of his chin in acknowledgment. "You mention spaghetti?"**

 

~*~

 

Once again, Daryl was surprised. Ex-military man or not, Merle had always been a dirty ass slob, and he'd only gotten worse as his pain pill addiction had become increasingly severe. It was difficult for Daryl to fathom how his brother had managed such strict regimens and order in the service when it went against his very nature, but he had for years, only leaving the job when a landmine overseas had taken one of his arms. Moving deeper into the house, Daryl easily recognized the signs of the scuffle Merle had briefly related to him over the phone. Obviously, the real shit had gone down as soon as the altercation had relocated to the front porch because the living space was otherwise neat, the overturned coffee table and the magazines and books scattered all across the hardwood floor the only evidence something had even happened at all. 

The house was quiet but for the background hum of the appliances, unnervingly so considering who owned it, and empty. 

That made the squeak of the yellow rubber duck beneath Daryl's boot all the more startling, and his cheeks burned hot with embarrassment even as he bent to pick it up. Searching until his eyes found a large dog bed, he grinned at the extensive assortment of chew toys littering its immediate perimeter. Bo. 

A broader inspection revealed the walls, shelves, and various tables of Merle's home were virtually littered with the shepherd mix's likeness. The ants in the kitchen food bowl, the half empty mug of coffee beside the sink, were confirmation enough for Daryl. Neither Bo nor his brother had walked these floors in a while. 

Stowing away his beer in the sparsely stocked fridge, Daryl did a quick search of the cabinets and successfully located a can of Raid. He coughed into his grimy forearm when the spray fogged in front of him and the noxious smell invaded his nose. Scraping the ruined remnants of chow into the garbage and tying the bag up, dead ants and all, he wasted no time carrying it out to the deck he'd glimpsed from the window over the sink. 

Open to the elements, the porch spanned the entirety of the back of the house and supported an eclectic assortment of patio furniture, a glider, and a grill that was no doubt Merle's pride and joy. 

Once he'd taken care of the trash, Daryl slumped in the glider, his hand burrowing into his jeans pocket for the crumpled Morley's he'd picked up on the Bama-Georgia state line. He absently tapped the unopened pack against his knee as the breeze and the tinkling music of a nearby wind chime picked up, lost in thoughts of drunken standoffs and demons chasing angels with curls of fire. These things Daryl ruminated on a long time, a very long time, and eventually, he drifted into an exhausted sleep. 

The navy sky was blanketed by a sea of stars. 

And Daryl Dixon was finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Threw a bunch of stuff at ya, didn't I?
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter; I never did manage to get the last section to my liking exactly, but eh. Least I'm not stuck in the mud like I still am with next chapter of "The Wonder." That one's giving me fits. But anyway...
> 
> I'm gonna just go ahead and change the rating of this story to M; I think it's safe to say we're headed in that direction if Daryl's potty mouth this chapter didn't already take us there, lol.
> 
> How 'bout Daryl, huh? Just when you think you got him pinned down, he shows you another facet of himself. Which one do you think is the real Daryl All of them or none of them? 
> 
> Oh, and that Sasha part? Just sorta happened. Don't worry, though. I'm Caryl all the way. :)
> 
> Thanks for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks. They are much appreciated. 
> 
> Next chapter we shift gears back to Carol. 
> 
> Hope you're still along for the ride.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol meets the other Dixon, and a few more familiar faces.

Yours, Mine, and…Ours?

 

xx3xx

 

The kitchen in the new apartment was little more than a breakfast nook without windows, almost claustrophobic in its design. Storage space was minimal, virtually nonexistent, and the narrow counter that stretched between the smaller than average fridge and the dented oven barely had enough room to house her ancient coffee maker and the thrift shop microwave. The shallow sink seemed like an awkward afterthought, and with limited other options, it was presently filled to the brim with the previous night's drying dinner dishes.

It was all very reminiscent of the tiny, hole in the wall, off-campus apartment she'd briefly shared with Andrea between freshman and sophomore year, and Carol let the fond memories of that place and particular time in her life distract her from the current source of her anxiety, even if the respite was only momentary. Setting the pen in her grasp down with a sigh, she wrapped both hands around her coffee mug and took a thoughtful sip.

The financial aid papers were stacked neatly beside Sophia's school books, still incomplete.

Without alimony of any sort, Carol had little in the means of actual income to report. Sophia's child support checks were a non-factor. Even if she hadn't refused to touch them—they were Sophia's, and she wanted nothing from her ex-husband but her daughter and her freedom, Ed's lawyer had filed to have the payments reduced shortly after his incarceration, and the meager monthly amount was barely enough to meet her daughter's needs. The paltry savings she'd managed to secret away during their disastrous union had practically been cleaned out already to cover the first couple of months' rent on their broom closet apartment. Carol had spent the better part of the morning struggling to justify wiping the rest of her savings out to cover the remaining costs of books and tuition without leaving them in a bind and had gotten nowhere.

Like so many times before, Andrea had offered to help.

Carol set her mug down with a groan and plowed frustrated fingers through her wild curls. Capturing them in one hand and holding them off of her neck, she glanced once more over her notepad, full of scribbled notes and numbers, and came to the same conclusion she'd reached the first hundred times. Even if her stubborn pride allowed her to entertain Andrea's generous proposal, her newfound, hard-won independence dictated that Carol refuse. Her friend had done so much already, providing legal support and counsel from her firm without asking for or requiring monetary compensation. Carol wouldn't take further advantage of their longtime friendship. That left her with one option on the table, an option she wasn't opposed to and actually welcomed, but it was going to be a tricky proposition with care of Sophia and her classes to take into consideration, not to mention her dismal lack of marketable experience.

Carol needed a job, and she needed it soon.

Picking up her pen again, she opened yesterday's paper, quickly finding the classifieds. She'd only circled half a dozen prospects before she heard the pitter patter of little feet.

"Mommy?" 

"In here, Sweetie."

Sophia padded into the kitchen on bare feet, her small fists rubbing at her sleepy eyes, her lips puckered in a pout. "I'm hungry."

A little dark cloud clad in cheerful rainbow pajamas, her baby girl had an impressive case of bed head, and that, combined with her seriously grumpy expression, had Carol biting her lip to contain her grin. Her own worries faded effortlessly to the background as she twisted in her seat and opened her arms. "Oatmeal?"

Sophia shook her head, crossing the room in a sleepy shuffle and curling readily into her mother's embrace.

"No oatmeal then," Carol murmured against the soft cloud of hair tickling at her nose. "What about cereal?" She smoothed Sophia's hair down with a gentle hand and dropped a kiss atop her head when she whined softly in protest. "Ok. Fruit?" Freeing one hand, she grabbed her phone and checked the time before setting it back down then carefully untangled her daughter's arms from her waist and held her at arms' length. With a knowing twinkle in her eyes, Carol counted the freckles sprinkled across Sophia's cheeks and nose while the little girl gathered up the courage to ask for what she really wanted. It was something they'd been working on since they'd been out on their own, expressing their wants and voicing their needs, and while she'd been very careful to point out to her daughter the two weren't always mutually exclusive, Carol didn't ever want her to be fearful of something as simple as requesting fruit for breakfast instead of oatmeal or cereal again. "Just remember," she teased with a love-softened smile, "you do eventually have to get ready for school."

Sophia ducked her head, knitting and twisting her fingers together for a long minute before relaxing them and taking a deep breath. "Pop-Tarts?" she offered hopefully.

Or even Pop-Tarts, Carol mused. "Only if you eat some fruit first. Deal?"

"Deal," Sophia grinned happily, allowing another kiss, this one on her forehead.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Standing up and crossing the few steps needed to reach the cabinets, Carol looked back to see her curious first grader making herself at home in her abandoned chair, tracing her tiny fingers over the words on the newspaper and frowning as she tried to puzzle out some of the bigger words.

"Now hi-hi-hi-ring. Hi-ring. Hiring. What does that mean, Mommy?" Sophia scooted from the chair only to climb into Carol's lap when she returned with the frosted pastries and a plate of assorted fruit.

"When you hire someone," Carol explained as she wiped at her daughter's ink-smudged fingers with a damp paper towel before she could dive in to her breakfast, "you pay them to work for you. Mommy's looking for a job, Sweetie. How do you feel about that?"

Sophia's frown deepened. "But jobs are bad."

Carol sighed. Of course, Sophia would think jobs were bad; she'd spent the first five and a half years of her young life listening to her father threatening her mother if she so much as thought of venturing past the four walls of the prison they'd lived in to seek employment. From the moment Ed Peletier had placed that ring on her finger, he'd slowly exerted more and more control over Carol's diet, her wardrobe, and her relationships with those she called friends. Forbidding her to work had been just another way to isolate her from the outside world and keep her under his thumb. Thankfully, he was gone, and things were different, so much different. She wanted Sophia to appreciate how full of possibilities and opportunities the whole wide world really was. "Jobs aren't bad."

Sophia didn't look convinced.

"They aren't," Carol insisted, stealing an apple slice for herself and munching on it; Sophia did the same, staring at her expectantly. Carol winced when she shifted in her lap, her bony knees digging into her thigh, and wrapped an arm around her small waist to keep her from tumbling to the floor. The chair wobbled and creaked ominously but held surprisingly strong beneath their combined weight, and Carol decided complete honesty was warranted. "Not all jobs are fun. But they're needed, all of them."

"All of them?" Sophia questioned in disbelief. "There's a boy in my class named Luke. He wants to be a worm picker when he grows up. That's just gross."

"That is just gross," Carol agreed with a laugh and amended her earlier statement. "Most jobs are needed. Some are just silly."

"Yeah," Sophia giggled, popping a piece of banana in her grinning mouth and swinging her skinny legs back and forth.

"Yeah," Carol echoed. "Jobs are good. You get paid money, and things cost money. Sometimes lots of money, Soph. Our food, clothes, this apartment. Mommy's school. Meghan's dance class she wants you to join." Sophia's eyes grew wider with each new thing she listed, and Carol decided to back off, maybe not come on so strong; she wanted her daughter to be informed about such concerns, not overwhelmed at her tender age. "That's why I'm looking for a job. So we can have more money."

"I don't have to be in dance, Mommy," Sophia declared after much thought, throwing both arms around her neck and looking up at her solemnly.

Carol blinked back tears at the unselfish willingness to make such a sacrifice. In this case, wanting and needing were pretty damned close in her opinion. She wanted Sophia to embrace and welcome new friends in this brand new life of theirs. Smiling, she lightly tapped the end of the little girl's button nose. "But you want to be, and somehow, Mommy's going to make it happen."

"Maybe I'll be a ballerina when I grow up."

"You can be anything you want to be." Breaking one of the Pop-Tarts in half, she held it out in offering. "Ballerinas have to eat their breakfast though. Ask Mr. Williams. He'll tell you."

"So do mommies," Sophia mumbled around the food in her mouth, erupting with giggles when her sides were tickled in retaliation for her unthinking display of bad manners. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's not polite…"

"…to talk with my mouth full," Sophia finished for her, eyes bright and sparkling. "I know." Tucking herself up tight in her mother's arms, she grew quiet as she played with the long red curls so close by, brushing one soft end against her flushed cheek in the same self-soothing gesture she'd made as an infant. "Mommy?"

"Hmm?" Carol hummed, her chin resting atop her daughter's head.

"Penny Blake's daddy works all the time, and she never sees him, and he doesn't even go to school. Penny says sometimes he forgets she's even his little girl. I don't want you to forget me."

The worried confession was soft, but it tore into Carol's heart with all the force of a speeding bullet. Penny Blake's daddy is an idiot, she wanted to scream, conjuring up an image of the man's empty smile from the memory of the campaign ads so frequently on television these days. She didn't trust Philip Blake's particular brand of charm, and she doubted she ever would again. Finally, Carol settled for a gentle, chiding rebuttal of her daughter's fears. "How could I ever forget you? You're my Silly Goose. You're my Sophia. You can't ask me to do the impossible. I won't." Sophia was visibly relieved, and she felt her own heart lighten. "Not much longer before we have to get you ready for school. Whatever should we do to pass the time?"

"I know!" Sophia straightened then, her clever little mind obviously percolating with the beginnings of an idea, and the newspaper crinkled beneath her hands as she searched through its pages. When she found the section she wanted, two whole pages full of comic strips, she beamed. "We can read the funnies."

"Let's start with Garfield. It's my favorite."

 

~*~

 

Hardly an hour after leaving Sophia in her teacher's capable care, Carol sipped at an exorbitantly overpriced cup of coffee and pretended to people watch, all while taking full advantage of the free Wifi connection to scroll through the most up-to-date job postings on the town's website. She smiled when a text message from Andrea popped up, rolling her eyes at her friend's new babies, a sky-high pair of black FMPs that looked positively lethal. Biting her lip to contain the giggle that wanted desperately to escape, she painstakingly composed an answering text message (*I think those are screw you shoes, not screw me*). She laughed out loud at the rapid fire response she received, earning more than a few curious looks from the other caffeine lovers in the café.

*Either works.*

Ducking her head sheepishly and grinning despite her embarrassment, Carol tapped out a scolding reply (*Stop! I know you're at work*). Taking another sip of her coffee, she went back to her job search, only to be interrupted by another text from Andrea a second later. This one made her blush a deep red and nearly set off a choking fit.

*You stop. My ill-prepared colleague called a recess already, and we're just sitting here. Sophia wasn't conceived through immaculate conception. Although…she's 100% you made over, and Ed was always such a limp-dicked asshole. You can say the word, Honey. Fuck. As in you desperately need it.*

Once Carol had regained her composure, she typed out a single word that said it all, at least she hoped it did (*Andrea.*) She covered her face with both hands when her phone chimed, proving just how futile her efforts were. With much hesitation, she took a peek at the screen.

*I'm serious. You need to get back on the horse, and not some gelding either. TTYL. The Judge is coming back in.* 

Sighing with relief once she'd reached the end of the message, Carol thumbed off her phone and placed it in her purse, deciding she'd loitered long enough.

The walk further downtown wasn't a long one, but it was pleasant. The morning sun was warm and bright, and the hanging baskets of flowers that lined the sidewalks were welcome splashes of color. Passersby in her path offered friendly smiles, and a local bakery advertising cupcakes smelled addictively delicious. A confidently handsome young officer looked up from a desk and greeted her with a flirty smirk when she walked through the doors of the King County jail.

"Can I help you, Ma'am?"

The minutes' old memory of Andrea's text drifted back into Carol's thoughts, and her lips twitched with a threatening smile, her cheeks burning with heat. He wasn't her type (she wasn't sure she had a type, although a pair of blue gray eyes and blond scruff popped effortlessly into her mind), and she didn't find him as sexy as his apparent arrogance would suggest, but she wasn't dead. Last time she checked she still had a pulse, and it was nice to be flirted with, no matter how off-handedly. She cleared her throat and pleasantly answered his question. "I'm here about the job. The one on the website."

"And you are?" the officer asked leadingly.

"Carol," Carol offered, her dry throat making her answer softer and huskier than normal. "Carol Peletier."

"Well, Carol. Carol Peletier. Let me see what I can find out." The man's dark eyes sparkled back at her over the top of the computer monitor, and his hand engulfed the small mouse on the desk. "This shouldn't take long. Just the stroke of a few keys."

A loud rasping cackle suddenly filled the room, and for the first time, Carol noticed the other person in the small room, a rugged-looking character with the scruff of a week-old beard covering his face, peppered with just a few hints of gray here and there. His broad grin spelled nothing but trouble, but Carol didn't feel threatened. And that was before she noticed the glaring absence of one of his arms.

"Careful there, pretty little Mouse. Sounds like the kind Officer wants you to stroke his keys. Ain't that right, Officer Walsh?"

"Dixon, I've had about enough of your bullsh…" Seeming to remember her presence, the younger man quickly cut himself off. "Cut the bull or I'll take you back to lock-up before Otis gets here." Looking back to Carol, he apologized for the interruption. "Ignore him. Man likes to hear himself talk."

The rough and tumble man merely tugged at his handcuffed hand, the only one he had, and shot the officer a pointed look. "And I'll keep talking 'til ya let me outta here. C'mon. Do I look like that much of a threat? Ole Merle?"

"Ask Doc Anderson," Officer Walsh barked in irritation, clumsily punching the wrong keys in his distraction. Underneath his breath, but still audibly, he muttered, "Sure be glad to be rid of your annoying ass."

"Back atcha," the inmate snarled, giving his cuffed appendage another frustrated tug. "Soon as my baby brother gets to town…"

"Hate to break the news to you, Dixon, but word 'round town is that roughneck brother of yours done been back. Blew in a couple days ago, maybe three." Pleased when that little tidbit of information had done its job and shut the other man up, he turned back to Carol one more time, another apologetic smile on his face. "Looks like I've locked up the computer somehow. You be okay if I stepped in back, asked our resident computer guru how to fix things?"

Carol chanced a glance across the small room and nodded. The loud man was now quiet, deflated. Hurt lurked at the back of his eyes before he lowered them from her gaze, rubbed his chin awkwardly against his broad shoulder.

"He ain't no threat. Least not to you," the cop reassured her one more time. "I won't be long. Heavyset man comes through that door by the name of Otis, he's okay. I don't know why, but he calls himself Dixon here's friend. Only friend I reckon the man has left in King County."

'Dixon' couldn't resist one last parting shot as Officer Walsh walked away. "Pains me to say it, but I prefer Officer Friendly to you."

"I'll pass along the word."

Once they were alone, the man fixed Carol with a serious look. "You sure ya want to work here, Mouse? Man ain't all he claims to be. Trust ole Merle. He knows these kinds of things. Officer Walsh there is a little too friendly with some real questionable folks, if you know what I mean. Keep those pretty blue eyes of yours open. Reason I'm takin' my visit out here is 'cause we got ourselves a special VIP inside these walls as I speak, the wannabe Governor himself. His visits are always hush hush."

Unconsciously, one of Carol's arms made its way around her waist, and she looked around for a place to sit. The only chairs brought her closer to the man, and she reluctantly made her way to them.

"S'alright, I won't bite." Merle's grin was wolfish as he added, "Unless yer askin'."

Without her consent, a small smile tugged at Carol's mouth, and she found herself relaxing in a seat directly across from him.

Merle's grin softened into a friendly smile. "That's more like it. You got yourself a pup? A young'un," he clarified when Carol looked confused.

Carol nodded but drew the line at volunteering anything more personal.

"You don't wanna work here then. Ain't that right, Otis?"

Carol looked over her shoulder to discover a large man in overalls and a well-worn camouflage hat. His wall-eyed stare was unnerving for the sole fact she couldn't tell if he was looking at her or the other occupant of the room. She gave him a polite nod and turned back around.

"What do ya think, Otis?"

Officer Walsh's unannounced return with the aforementioned gubernatorial candidate interrupted any response Otis might have had, and for a moment, the trio found themselves transfixed by the curious interaction.

Carol found the politician's smile even colder in person, and she fought the unwelcome shiver that traveled up and down her spine, clutching her purse tighter to her side.

Merle Dixon's hawkish eyes didn't miss a thing, and again he repeated, "You don't want to work here." He fixed his gaze on Otis again when it became apparent Carol was distracted by Blake's smarmy act. "This could be the chance you been lookin' for. You and Patricia can ride yer happy asses into the sunset. All you gotta do is hook her up with Grandpappy Greene."

Otis side eyed Carol, sizing her up. "You like animals?"

"Warm-blooded ones," Carol answered without thinking. Her startled blue eyes snapped back to Merle when his loud cackle filled the room once again. Otis's soft chuckle caught her even further off-guard.

"This one's pretty *and* smart."

 

~*~

 

Hershel Greene's veterinary office was off the beaten track, way off the beaten track.

With each passing mile that ticked over on her odometer, Carol began to fear that her beat up little car wouldn't survive the trip there, forget the trip back home. Just when she began to despair of ever reaching her destination, she turned a bend in the unpaved road, and there it was.

It wasn't a large building; it was fairly modest actually. But there were cars parked everywhere, in the front and on both sides. Fields of fenced in, sprawling green surrounded the building, stretched as far as the eye could see, the dark figures of cattle dotting their expanse. An elderly woman stood beneath the shade of the live oak out front allowing a leashed Shih Tzu to do its business. A couple walked down the stone pathway toward her, tears still fresh on their faces and an empty pink cat carrier between them.

Offering them an unnoticed expression of sympathy, Carol waited until they were gone before she exited her car. Only after they left did she escape into the golden sunshine, swallowing hard and fortifying her nerves. Still, her hands were damp and empty as she entered the building, and it seemed like all her doubts came flooding back while she waited her turn in line. When she reached the desk, she asked for Patricia just like Otis had instructed her and felt relief flood her system when she received a warm, dimpled smile in response.

"You must be Carol. I'm Patricia," the middle-aged blond revealed. "Just let me get T to mind the desk, and we'll find Dr. Greene."

Dr. Hershel Greene had snow white hair, wise eyes that took in everything at a glance, and a kind demeanor that put Carol at ease even while he informed her in a soft, measured drawl that Patricia's impending departure was news to him. "I wasn't aware I was needing a new secretary."

"Dr. Greene," Patricia merely smiled. "You know Otis and me been looking to see the world. We ain't getting any younger, and Otis has his eye on that RV he saw in the paper. I wouldn't be quitting completely. You know I'd go stir crazy if I did. 'Sides. Carol here is just about to start school, and she's only looking for some part-time work. I'd still work the hours she couldn't, and Otis and me can take short trips, work our way up to the bigger ones. See how it goes."

"You've got it all figured out, haven't you?" the old man asked, his affection for his long-time employee making his eyes dance. "Put T out of his misery, Patricia, and get back to the desk. Carol and I have some things to talk about." He accepted Patricia's hug with grace, and smiled at Carol over the other woman's shoulder.

"You're gonna love it here, Honey," Patricia practically squealed in her excitement as she left them. "Dr. Greene is the best."

"I don't know about that. You can call me Hershel," the old vet said as he led Carol deeper into the bowels of the building, toward the exam rooms filled with his waiting patients and their owners. "Dr. Greene's a mite too formal. Patricia's just trying to act professional since you're new to us."

Carol smiled. "Thank you."

"You're starting school?"

"Yes, Sir. I just have a couple more prerequisites to get out of the way before I start the nursing program," Carol answered, falling in to step behind Hershel when a broad shouldered black man in scrubs with a friendly, gap-toothed grin sped past.

"Excuse me, but Princess Di awaits."

"Princess Di is a 140 pound Great Dane with a particular fondness for her owner's fuzzy socks," Hershel explained with twinkling eyes. "T's on watch. Hopefully, they'll pass on their own." Opening the door in front of him, he gestured for Carol to proceed. "This won't take long. Just a few more questions, and we'll see about setting you up with a schedule."

Carol perched on the edge of a book-laden sofa, clasping her hands in her lap and trying to fight down her excitement lest something she said in the next few minutes changed the kindly man's mind. The man himself leaned against the desk in front of her, his arms bracing his weight.

"First, let me say this: nursing is a hard but rewarding profession. The program when you're just getting started is just as difficult. It takes time and commitment. Are you sure you want this job, Carol?"

Carol thought his question over for a few minutes and realized she did want it. More importantly, she needed it. "I do, Dr. Greene. But I have to be honest. I don't have much work experience."

"Hershel," he gently corrected her. "And you have life experience. The rest will come with time."

"Hershel," Carol repeated with a grateful, if nervous smile.

"My oldest daughter is taking classes at the community college next town over—same as the one you are, I reckon," Hershel revealed proudly. "One day she's going to take over this place if she doesn't decide to serve the public. She sat in on a political science class this past summer, and she's become enamored with the whole thing. She spends much of her free time acting as a volunteer for Deanna Monroe's gubernatorial campaign, says she's our state's best hope. I'm inclined to believe her, but I digress. We're not here to discuss politics, are we?"

Far from being put off by the rambling admissions, Carol found she liked him even more for his honesty and the obvious pride he felt for his daughter. A sneaking suspicion she'd had at the back of her mind since they'd been introduced began to coalesce, and she made a soft inquiry, Glenn Rhee's youthful face prominently in her mind's eye. "Your daughter wouldn't be Maggie, would it?"

Hershel's smile widened even more if possible. "You know my daughter?"

Carol shook her head. "I know of her, though. I've only heard good things."

Hershel picked up a tattered text book and held it in his hands. "What about you, Carol? Do you have any children?"

"One," Carol matched Hershel's proud smile. "Sophia. She's six."

"Children are blessings. I'm sure you understand."

Nodding to him and herself, Carol's eyes widened when she noted the time. The Morales family next door had promised to watch over Sophia should she be late getting home, and though they were kind to a fault, she still didn't know them all that well. Even if she did, she was hesitant to take advantage of their generosity.

Her glance didn't go unnoticed by Hershel, and he didn't waste any more of her time. "We're open 'til five on weekdays, later sometimes if an emergency comes up. Half a day on Saturdays. Dr. S. helps out when he can through the week and works every other weekend. Comfortable is the only way we dress," he smiled. "And your Sophia can always come along if you don't have a sitter. Just leave your phone number with Patricia at the desk, and she can work on your schedule with you later when you've gotten your classes settled."

"Thank you. You don't know how much I appreciate this."

"Oh, I think I do. Now off with you, young lady. I've got patients to see, socks to recover."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments and kudos. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dixon brothers finally reunite, and there's more to Merle's story than he originally let on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Major curveball ahead**
> 
> Beware of Dixon potty mouth.

Yours, Mine, and…Ours?

 

xx4xx

 

Daryl greeted the tenth sunrise since his brother's desperate summons home just like he had the eighth and the ninth—bare chested and bare footed, nursing a mug of suck-ass coffee on the front porch swing.

This morning's mug boldly read, FBI—Female Body Inspector. 

Daryl grunted in reluctant amusement. Despite holding the distinction of being the least offensive mug in Merle's vast collection, the cup was still a source of crude inspiration. Not that Daryl really needed much help in that department. His dreams the last couple of nights had been filled with fire and ice, and the ache he'd woken with both mornings following had been more than body deep. He flexed his cramping right hand, chafing his palm against the rough denim of his jeans while a smirk twitched at his lips. He wouldn't mind performing a thorough inspection of his own, mapping the constellation of freckles beneath the enticing flush that had fueled his most recent fantasies. It was really too bad about the kid, he mused yet again, taking another sip of coffee and forcibly pushing all thoughts of the red head from his mind as he looked out into the yard.

Dew still kissed the freshly shorn grass in wet sparkles, and the sun glowed as if through a pink and dusky blue prism. Like clockwork, Merle's resident woodpecker welcomed the morning, providing a percussive beat of sorts to the lilting whistles of the cheerful, orange chested robins flitting and darting about the multiple homemade bird feeders dispersed across the property.

Daryl focused on the nearest one, a half empty mason jar contraption hanging from a hook with a thin sliver of wire just feet in front of him, and added bird seed to his mile-long, ever-changing mental list. Draining the last dregs of weak caffeine from his mug and resting it on the wide porch rail, he stood up and stretched, absently scratching his chest as he considered his plans for the day.

The porch boards were replaced already, shiny and new with some extra pieces he'd found out back, the measurements for the new door noted and stored in his phone. He'd mown the grass yesterday in the balmy evening hours, hoping to tire his body and mind enough for a dreamless sleep that hadn't come. The cupboards were bare, though, and he'd eaten the last of those crap kid's snack lunches curiously filling Merle's fridge shelves the night before, chasing cold pepperoni and cheese with his final beer.

A trip back into town was imminent, ultimately unavoidable; Daryl knew eventually he'd have no other recourse. Blood was blood, after all. Like it or not—and most times, Daryl didn't like it, Merle was the only family he had left. He sighed heavily and scrubbed his hands over his face, the unshaven stubble scratching roughly against his palms. Then he groaned and let his hands fall away, epithets tightening the resigned scowl on his face. "Fuckin' hell, Brother. You best not make me regret this."

 

~*~

 

Daryl rubbed his clenched fist against the foggy mirror, squinting critically at his reflection before picking up the razor he'd pilfered from Merle's medicine cabinet and carefully scraping it against his skin. As he worked to clear his face of most of the week-old scruff, he thought back to what else he'd found in his brother's stash—a bottle of Oxy.

Even without each pill being counted, it was obvious the bottle was nearly full, less than a third of its contents used.

The date on the prescription and the amount of refills left unfulfilled would have been pretty conclusive proof to somebody that didn't know his brother like he did, that Merle really was trying, but Daryl wasn't quite ready to make that leap just yet. The bastard had too long a history as an unrepentant screw-up, a history that stretched all the way back to Daryl's childhood. No. Merle wasn't getting a free pass, not from him and not yet, but the surprising find was just another confounding piece of evidence to add to the mounting pile he'd encountered since coming home. It was disconcerting as hell, having his preconceived notions challenged like that, and Daryl was increasingly uncomfortable with this whole shebang. He wasn't sold yet that Merle was telling him the complete truth; nope, the dick was leaving something out, and it was probably something big. His eyes briefly landed on the kitchen chair currently sticking out like a sore thumb from the rest of the bathroom's Spartan décor then returned to his own reflection. If it wasn't something like that, then it looked like his addict brother was definitely beginning to lose his grasp on what few marbles remained in his opiate-fried brain.

Merle's bail was more than manageable, chump change if you had the right funds or connections according to the message that do-gooder Grimes had left on Daryl's voicemail. He remained at King County Jail more because of the other man involved and his connections, the charges against him hardly warranting such a lengthy stay. Releasing him should take little work, if only someone cared.

The memory of that last comment, spoken in a judgment-laced drawl, made Daryl grit his teeth. "Man don't know shit," he muttered, wincing as the action resulted in him nicking the tender underside of his jaw. Tearing a small piece of toilet paper from its roll, he pressed it against his skin and gave his face a final once over. A couple of quick swipes with some deodorant later, he left the bathroom behind and padded into the bedroom he'd commandeered as his own during his short stay, contemplating the limited wardrobe laid out on the unmade bed. Swearing, he finally unknotted the white towel at his waist and stepped into a pair of jeans that could almost stand on their own. Yanking his gray tee shirt over his head after giving the sleeves an experimental sniff, he plowed an agitated hand through his damp hair to set it to rights and grabbed his wallet from the nightstand. Looked like he'd be buying more than just milk and his brother's freedom today. 

The last couple days had given him more than enough time to explore his surroundings, and he'd been pleasantly surprised to discover a detached garage out back. It was a newer structure, easily big enough to house two cars, but only Merle's old rust bucket resided inside. The rest of the area was a workshop of sorts, mason jars and empty soda bottles, among other things, lined up right alongside more traditional, expected tools. The skeleton of a reworked chopper lurked in one corner beside the old push mower he'd dragged out the day before, and a quartet of starving potted plants wilted on a dim, dusty windowsill.

The old clunker groaned when Daryl opened the door to climb inside and sputtered indignantly when he fitted the poorly hidden keys he'd found on the front tire into the ignition to turn it over. He opened the garage door with the remote he found beneath a folded, two week-old newspaper and put the truck in reverse, swearing when the jerky motion scattered the sticky remains of a bag of gummy bears underfoot. He kicked them aside, grimacing, and checked his jeans pocket one last time for his phone before making a wide turn for town.

It was time to bring Merle home.

 

~*~

 

Daryl made a couple stops first, the bank being purely necessary and the local mom and pop hardware store nothing more than a stalling tactic. Needless to say, it was well into the afternoon before he set foot in the King County Jail.

A young woman with puppy dog eyes and a short, stubby ponytail gathered at the base of her neck barely spared him a second glance, furiously tapping away at the keyboard in front of her. "Take a seat, and someone will be right with you." A fretful furrow appeared between her brows at whatever she saw on her computer monitor, and she grumbled beneath her breath. "Girls totally do everything better."

Daryl couldn't resist snorting. "Not everything."

The girl abruptly looked up, disbelief twisting her mouth, and narrowed those enormous eyes at him. "I'm sorry. Did you say something?"

The cadet (because that's obviously what she was…she was simply too green to be anything else) had a tomboyish sort of appeal, and Daryl shrugged and folded his arms across his chest, willing to bait a few hooks if it meant relief from his months long dry spell—especially the torment of the last few days; his inherent dislike of the police and their kind was a total non-factor in the decision. She was young but she was legal, and he didn't get the mommy vibe from her, not at all. When it became apparent the display was wholly unimpressive to his audience, he dropped his arms to his sides and smirked; clearly he was barking up the wrong tree. "You said everything. They don't. It's a matter of opinion."

She matched his smirk with one of her own. "You must be Dixon's brother."

"What gave it away?"

"You're the second guy that's hit on me this week," she grinned, her eyes sparkling and bright. "And it's flattering. It really is. You Dixons are not without your charm. But I like girls," she revealed in a stage whisper. Giggling in tickled delight, she pushed away from her desk and motioned for him to wait as she gathered up a stack of paperwork. "I'm actually going to miss your brother. He drives Walsh crazy, and anybody that can give that man hell…let's just say things are going to be a lot less interesting around this place after you two walk out that door."

"Shane Walsh?" Daryl questioned as he accepted the stack of paperwork from her.

"The one and only," the ponytailed cadet wrinkled her nose. "You know him?"

"Went to high school with the prick," Daryl ground out in distaste.

"Once a prick always a prick," she commented, plucking a pen from her pocket and handing it over. "Fill these out. I'll go see about getting your brother ready. Name's Tara, by the way," she called out as she was leaving.

"Daryl," he muttered softly in reply.

"Nice to meet you, Daryl Dixon."

 

~*~

 

The whole process didn't take too long.

Before he knew it, his asshole brother was in the truck beside him, and Haggard was bemoaning his mama's failed efforts across the radio waves as the aging vehicle putted across town. Four years' worth of living to catch up on, and the dickhead had nothing to say (not even thanks), choosing instead to stare out the passenger side window like a sullen, stick up its ass child. Daryl finally bit the bullet, settled for something relatively safe. "You reek."

Merle grunted, gripped his pants leg with tension tight fingers.

"You look like one of those damned bush people too," Daryl sneered, his own knuckles white against the steering wheel of the old Ford. "They not give you baths in that place?"

A twitch of his jaw was the only indication Merle gave that he'd heard him. He bumped the volume up on the radio to thwart any further awkward attempts at conversation on Daryl's part.

Daryl soon found himself mirroring his brother's surly expression, only he stared straight ahead at the road. He swore softly when a red light snagged them at the next intersection and turned down the radio with a flick of his wrist, unable to stand the syrupy Dolly Parton tune any longer. "Seriously, Merle?" he blurted suddenly, the strained silence between them getting the better of him. "Yellow roses? Yellow roses damn everywhere? The fuck were you thinking?"

"They attract butterflies or some shit like that! The hell, Lil Brother?" Merle's good arm flailed blindly in his exasperation, and he twisted in his seat to face Daryl. "How many more days were you gonna leave me to rot in that place? I know you been back, Darylina. You tryin' to punish yer old brother?"

"So what if I was?" Daryl snapped, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel with vicious intent. "Don't pretend you're all hurt and offended. You done me wrong, not the other way 'round."

Merle's ire dissolved, and his voice dropped to a soft, guilty rasp. "Maybe. Maybe so. But that girl weren't no count anyway. She played both of us, Baby Brother. You just don't know."

"Jessie weren't never the problem, Merle," Daryl growled. "Not the real problem anyway. She didn't matter. It was the pills. Those goddamn pills. Can't you get that through your thick skull? I couldn't go on pretending everything was fine while you pissed your sorry life away for a fix. Not when you broke your promise."

"I told you already, Darylina. I'm tryin'."

Daryl sighed and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. Raising his head, he met his brother's pleading stare with an intense one of his own, just as surprised as Merle at the words that came pouring out of his mouth. "I don't know why, but I believe you. Something's different this time, and I believe you're trying the best you know how."

A flicker of a smile briefly softened Merle's blunt features before he grew serious again. "I am, Baby Brother. You don't know how hard I am."

Shaking his head, Daryl put his foot to the gas when a horn blared behind them, and he belatedly realized the traffic light had turned green. "What does that even mean? Merle, the hell is even going on?"

Merle didn't answer the question, once again staring straight ahead as if afraid to meet Daryl's eyes.

"This is more than some fist fight with some uppity white coat, ain't it?" Daryl pressed harder for answers. He sighed again when Merle's only answer was another question.

"You remember the way to Axel and Big Tiny's place?"

"Bo can't wait for another few minutes?" Daryl snapped, almost immediately feeling remorse when he remembered the helpless ball of fluff he'd rescued from an abandoned restaurant parking lot nearly three years ago. He'd had her delivered to his brother's doorstep when it became obvious a life shuffled between Aaron and Eric's Bed and Breakfast and Sasha's tiny postage stamp apartment during his weeks spent on the rig was no life at all for the affectionate mutt. The drooling lover had been the only tenuous connection the brothers had shared during their four-year estrangement, and he was just as anxious to lay eyes on her as his brother was, but still. "Fuck, Merle. You steal this man's wife or something like that?"

Merle's expression was grim as he grit out a response. "Something like that. Just drive, Daryl. Ole Merle will explain when we get there."

 

 

~*~

 

Axel's handlebar mustache twitched like a rabbit's whiskers as he stared down at them both from his lofty top step perch, and his brow crinkled before he smiled. "About time you two showed up."

Axel and Big Tiny's doublewide was a dump, a junky, cluttered space that should have been condemned and looked minuscule with Big Tiny's massive body standing in the center of it. Takeout containers were piled on every semi-flat surface, and the floor looked like it was vomiting an endless supply of dirty clothes. The combined result was almost overwhelming, and that wasn't counting the skunky sweet smell clinging to Axel's scrawny frame.

Daryl coughed into his forearm and turned stinging eyes on his brother's solid bulk. "This part of your explanation, Merle? 'Cause I'm not impressed."

Merle shrugged off Daryl's snarky jibe and fixed a scowl on his former co-workers.

Big Tiny's expression was painfully earnest, and he flapped a meaty arm toward the trailer's rear exit and the little patch of green beyond its rickety door. "He's outside. Been out there most the afternoon."

Daryl frowned as he watched his brother stalk away.

Axel merely offered him a chill grin in response, collapsing into the nearest chair while Merle's departure seemed to have the opposite effect on Big Tiny; the gentle giant moved in a flurry of sudden activity, bustling around and digging through various piles of shit, gathering what looked to be toys.

Daryl's frown threatened to become a permanent fixation when the big man dumped the whole mess in his arms. "What the hell, Man? Bo don't need no more toys. She's got plenty at home."

Big Tiny's face fell, and his eyes shied away guilty.

"Ain't Bo's toys, Bro," Axel intoned flatly and without a care in the whole wide world. "Ain't seen hide nor hair of our furry friend in two days. Big Tiny let her out to take a leak, and best we can tell, she hightailed it home. Those toys are his. The boy's," the mechanic explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Only it wasn't. Not to Daryl. He didn't have a blessed clue. Not until his brother rejoined them, an owl-eyed little boy clinging to his pants leg.

Merle made the introductions. "Daryl, meet Sam. Sam, this is the brother I told ya so much about. 'Member? He's the one gave Ole Merle Bo."

Daryl covered his face with hands, fighting mightily against the sudden, gripping desire to scream. Well, fuck.

 

~*~

 

The kid was strange, no two ways around it, and Daryl said as much to Merle between nervous puffs of his cigarette while they watched the boy drag the leftover fries from his Happy Meal across his melting ice cream cone, only to lick the sweetness off and repeat the action until the starchy shoestrings were nothing more than a soppy mess. "He even know how to talk?"

"Course he knows how to talk," Merle rasped out, snatching Daryl's smoke from him and taking a long drag himself. "Just don't feel the need, I reckon."

"You ever heard him?" Daryl mumbled around a fresh cigarette, bringing his lighter up to the tip and letting the small flame catch. More than three years quit, and Merle had him chain smoking in the course of one seriously shitty afternoon. He mentally cursed his brother again for dragging him into such a mess and stuffed the crumpled pack of Morley's back into his jeans pocket. "Maybe he's mute."

Merle scowled at the half serious suggestion, stubbing the glowing nub of his stolen stick of tobacco beneath the toe of his boot when it dropped to the ground. He studied the kid long and hard, from the top of his tousled blond head to the tips of his sneaker hidden toes, and finally proclaimed, "He ain't mute. Little shit's just quiet. Stoic. If you ask me, he's a lot like you at that age."

Daryl scoffed. "Boy ain't no Dixon. That's just some line Jessie sold you so she can skip right on out of town with a free conscience."

"Maybe," Merle allowed. "But here's the thing, Baby Brother. That self-righteous sonuvabitch never once asked about the kid. Abusive bastard didn't care. All he wanted was his wife. When I told him she weren't there, the dumbass tried to sucker punch me. I still beat his ass, one handed."

"Course he wanted his wife," Daryl groused. "Merle, be real here." He whirled around and faced his brother head on when he realized the kid's curious blue eyes were staring straight at him. "Boy ain't no Dixon," he repeated.

"Who's to say he ain't?" Merle shrugged hopefully. "Like Jessie said, why would she lie about something like that?"

"Why wouldn't she?" Daryl shot back, wholly unconvinced. "This is bullshit, Merle. Bullshit, and you know it. It's just another lie she told to make herself feel better about abandoning her own kid. C'mon, Brother. Even you can't be that desperate to believe her."

"You didn't see her, Daryl." Serious and white-faced, Merle implored Daryl to at least consider the possibility that what he was saying might be true. "She'd been worked over good, and she was crying, begging me to give the boy a chance. To get him out of a bad situation." When he realized that his words had struck home, he took a deep breath and continued. "Look. I know it's crazy, and the girl might be playing us both for fools."

"You know she fucking is," Daryl cut in, savagely stabbing the butt of his cigarette into the peeling paint of their picnic bench sentinel. He folded his arms across his chest and curbed his more violent urges with the knowledge that the little snot factory was probably watching his every move.

Merle joined him atop the picnic bench and offered the boy a reassuring nod before lowering his voice til the gravel sound scraped across Daryl's fraying nerves. "You two's got history, and ain't all of it pretty."

"We fooled around some in vocational school, scratched each other's itch when the mood struck us after graduation." Daryl grunted and lifted a finger to scratch at his brow then side-eyed his brother. "Wasn't no damned relationship. Hell, she screwed you first chance she got."

"Wasn't like that."

The old argument barely registered with Daryl. He was too busy gnawing his thumbnail in thought. "You really think he's a Dixon?"

"Could be. Most likely he's yours. Might be he's mine. But the way I see it now with his mama out of the picture," Merle fixed him with a meaningful look, "he's ours, either way, and ain't nobody gonna tell me we ain't better Dixons than our old man. We take care of our own, Baby Brother."

After a while, Daryl nodded, rubbed his ragged nail against the rough denim of his jeans and slid from the tabletop. Two sets of eyes stared at him, heavy with expectation. "What you waiting on? Boy can't live in those Star Wars pajamas forever."

 

~*~

 

It shouldn't have been hard, two grown men buying clothes for a little boy—hell, they all had the same plumbing, but it was one of the toughest things Daryl had ever done. Not for the first time, he wished he'd never answered Merle's call, wished he'd told Abraham to hang the damn phone up. The kid blinked up at him slowly while Daryl rifled through dozens upon dozens of pairs of little kids' underwear, feeling vaguely like some kind of pedophile. "Boxers or briefs?"

"True Dixons go au naturel," Merle winked, holding up a pack of plain white crew socks for closer inspection. He glanced back and forth between the socks and the boy's small feet before finally making his choice and throwing two packs of the socks into their cart. "Damned machine's always eatin' them anyway."

"C'mon, Kid. Boxers or briefs? Don't make me pull your pants down and look." Daryl pulled his best, most threatening face, but the tyke's blank expression didn't change, and he looked over to Merle, scratching at the bit of scruff left on his chin. He frowned when a horrifying thought occurred to him and absently flicked away the forgotten scrap of toilet paper when he felt it on his fingertips. "You don't think he still wears those big kid diapers, do you? He is on the scrawny side."

Merle's gleeful cackle earned him a package of dinosaur briefs to the face. "Kid's too old for pull-ups, and he's too young for Depends. Can see now why you don't like dating the pretty mamas, Darylina. You don't know shit about kids."

"And you do?" Daryl scoffed, looking down when he felt a small hand tug at his shirt. He groaned out loud when a tiny index finger pointed over his shoulder. "Fuckin' underoos?"

"Hey," Merle chastised shortly and mimed a cutting motion across his throat with his good arm.

Daryl rolled his eyes at his brother.

"As I recall, Wonder Woman used to be your favorite."

Daryl made sure his obscene response was completely out of the boy's line of sight, and soon, their cart resembled the superhero hall of fame. Pajamas were less of a challenge, and eventually they moved on to normal, everyday wear, which was much easier. Daryl just picked up stuff that he would wear if he were three feet tall and still sucked his thumb when he thought nobody was looking (they were going to have to work on that; Dixons weren't pussies). Before he was finished, the kid had a tee-shirt for every day of the week, a couple pairs of jeans, and some shorts for when he just couldn't help but fly that little nerd flag of his. Only thing left was shoes, and Merle was taking care of that.

Turned out, Merle was far from taking care of it; the asshole was having a mini meltdown and scaring the boy from the looks of it.

The pair of them looked up at Daryl when he arrived with pleading blue eyes. "How hard can it be to find a pair of shoes? Move aside, Ladies." But when he pushed his brother aside, he immediately recognized the dilemma and felt a dull ache begin to throb somewhere within the vicinity of his heart. Shit. 

"Kid don't know how to tie his own shoes yet," Merle muttered quietly.

Mad at him or not, Daryl didn't like seeing his brother look so defeated, and he quickly looked around for a solution to their problem. When his gaze landed on a colorful display at the end of the aisle, he couldn't decide whether to grimace or smile. "It's alright. We got ourselves an easy fix."

 

~*~

 

The Crocs squeaked obnoxiously, and they were fugly (Merle expressly forbid him to say fuck in front of the kid, go figure, and so the fucking ugly shoes became the fugly shoes). Daryl was more embarrassed by them when they entered the discount grocery than the stained Star Wars pajamas the kid stubbornly refused to change, and once or twice he wandered off on his own. But like his own shadow, he couldn't shake the tyke or his loud-mouthed brother, and all the good will he'd felt toward the both of them earlier started to slowly fade away. Finally, he made a suggestion he hoped would spare them all the bitch fit he felt brewing within. "Look. Why don't you two take this half of the store, and I'll take the other? It'll save time, and we'll still have the light to look for Bo on the way home."

At the mention of the furry Houdini, Merle's good humor faded, and the disappointed pout the boy affected nearly dragged the concrete ground. "Good idea, Darylina. We'll meet you up front. You know what to get?"

"Kid eats the same thing as everybody else, I reckon," Daryl grumbled. Then he remembered all those crap prepackaged snack lunches that'd been all Merle had in his fridge, and he sighed. "Yeah. I know what to get. Shouldn't be that hard. You're out of everything. Meet you in ten?"

Just like that, Merle's smirk returned. "You really aren't around kids that much. Make it fifteen, but don't get yer panties in a twist if it's twenty."

"Fu…"

Merle's shit-eating grin held a note of warning.

"Blow me."

"Sure," Merle chortled obnoxiously. "I'll blow you a bubble. Just need some gum first." He shifted his eyes to the boy watching their whole exchange with sleepy eyed fascination. "I bet Sam here's an excellent bubble blower."

The deflection wasn't amusing to Daryl in the least, but he understood it, and dammit, wasn't he in a helluva fix? His brother had him right back where he wanted him, and Daryl didn't like it one bit. "Fifteen or I'm leaving your ass."

Merle's knowing laughter followed him across the building. "We'll see, Baby Brother."

"Yeah right, we'll see," Daryl growled as he grabbed his own cart and started methodically working his way through the other side of the store. He'd just about cleared the establishment out of the little cheese and pepperoni snacks when a small hand darted out to grab the last one. "Watch it. I was just about to…" His aggravation died down abruptly when those same red curls that'd haunted his dreams for days tickled his forearm, and the seductive sensation sent electricity sweeping throughout his system. His gaze snapped to those blue sky eyes of hers and he smirked at the recognition he saw there. "If it isn't the Skittles Lady." That blush she couldn't seem to control almost made him as hot as her hair, and fuck if he could help himself, kid or no kid. "You come here often, Sweetheart?"

She bit that bee-stung bottom lip of hers and took her sweet time answering. "No. Yes. I mean…"

She was suspicious, and that made her smart; Daryl found her even prettier for it. "Relax," he said to put her at ease. "Just making conversation. Kids like those, yeah?" He waved his hand at the package in her hands, and he felt his own cheeks burn when her gaze dropped to his cart full of junk then lifted back to his own.

Her blue eyes danced, and a shy smile tugged at her mouth. "Kids of all ages, looks like."

Rather than feeling uncomfortable, Daryl found he liked it when she teased him; he liked it a whole damn lot. The corner of his mouth curled, and he shrugged with a bashfulness he hadn't felt since grade school. "A man cannot survive on takeout alone." She laughed, and the sound filled him with warmth. Still, she didn't take his unwitting, unplanned invitation for what it was, and Daryl couldn't help feeling disappointed, just a little. Hell. He was more than just a little disappointed, and the foreign feeling stung.

"I really should go. I left my daughter with the neighbors, and I've been gone too long already. It was nice talking to you…"

"Daryl." Daryl let out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding when her searching smile softened, and she gave him a little wave farewell.

"Nice talking to you, Daryl. Maybe I'll see you around."

"Maybe you will."

 

~*~

 

The boy had conked out before they even made it through the checkout line, and he snored softly in the cab of the truck, stretched out between the two of them.

Daryl had long since given up trying to dislodge him. His last attempt had almost been the death of them all when the whining little shit had blindly grabbed his dick when he tried to pry him loose. No, he'd left well enough alone, and the kid was currently drooling a river on his thigh, a plight Merle was wholly unsympathetic about, and that just pissed Daryl off more. "Why ain't you the kiddie pillow?"

Merle tore his attention from the white picket fences of suburbia passing them by and offered him a sly grin. "I ain't the sweet one, that's why." His eyes drifted to the bag of candy still clutched in Daryl's hand, and he chuckled. "That a present from the pretty little mouse? Saw you talkin' to her."

The same teenaged cashier from days ago had handed him the Skittles with his change. When Daryl tried to hand them back to her, she shook her head with a beaming smile then gave him a bit of unsolicited advice.

"You know, next time you should totally buy her flowers. She seems like the type of lady that'd really really appreciate them."

Merle had been witness to his mumbled thanks, to even more than that if he were telling the truth, and Daryl found himself curious as to what his brother thought he actually saw. He wouldn't let himself ask, though. "Ain't really my type."

"Sure looked like your type from where Ole Merle was standing."

Daryl lifted his thumb to his mouth. "Shut up, Merle."

Suburbia gave way to farm country, and silence settled upon the cab again, interrupted only by the occasional snore from Sam. Shadows grew longer and deeper and the green Georgia fields seemed to melt into one another and stretch as far as the eye could see.

Daryl knew there'd be no finding Bo tonight. When Merle started up again, he allowed it, 'cause he knew his brother had reached the same conclusion and they both needed the distraction.

"I know you didn't have to answer that phone. I know you didn't want to."

Daryl didn't bother denying a truth they both knew. Tearing into the Skittles with his teeth, he offered his brother a handful. When Merle declined, he emptied a third of the bag into his mouth and took the turn that would lead them home. He took it slow, but the truck's tires still spit gravel at them, and the air was stagnant when both brothers rolled up their windows.

"I fucked up, Baby Brother. I know that. The girl, the pills. I was so used to having you around. That's not an excuse; I'm just sayin'."

Funny thing was, Daryl understood. He had for a while now. But loneliness wasn't a free pass to act stupid. He'd made enough of his own mistakes to know. And now they found themselves in another fine mess. He smoothed an unconscious hand over the boy's sweaty hair and sighed. "They ain't going to let you keep him just because you want to. He's still got another man's name on his birth certificate, and neither one of us got legal rights to the boy. I know you don't want to believe it, but Jessie might be lying. You're going to need a test."

Merle's eyes glittered in the darkness. "You're going to need a test too."

"We're going to need a damn good lawyer."

Merle's laugh was bitter and sharp. "Where we gonna find us one of those?"

Rick Grimes came to mind, and Daryl pushed down his own misgivings. The man had been a good guy in high school; it stood to reason he hadn't changed all that much. The message on Daryl's voicemail proved that. "I think I might know somebody that can help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos, comments, and bookmarks.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, we catch back up with Carol as she meets new friends and old. Glenn is his usual adorkable self. Andrea and Carol reconnect. And Carol's candy man ups the ante.

Yours, Mine, and…Ours? 

 

xx5xx

 

Fridays were Fun Days, or so the note in Sophia's backpack had said, and costumes were not only welcomed, they were expected, be they simple or this side of elaborate.

Sophia's ensemble was subtle, an homage to one of her favorite characters in one of her most loved movies. The simple red tee shirt paired with cuffed denim shorts and tiny red Converses was cute but nothing out of the ordinary. The soft strawberry curls framing her freckled face weren't that unusual as Sophia was always begging Carol to recreate the wild curls that were the bane of her own existence and had already worn them at least once during the prior week. The stuffed yellow dog hugged tightly to her small chest? That garnered more than a few stares and pointing fingers as Carol walked her daughter to the school's cafeteria, and she practically had to peel the child from her side once they reached its doors. Admittedly, it was much more crowded than anticipated, but the secretary and Principal Jacqui had assured them both Sophia would be fine, and Carol was quick to remind her of that fact.

Sophia remain unconvinced and timidly tucked herself back against her mother's side when a trio of older kids darted around them to join the growing breakfast line. "I don't want to, Mommy. Please don't make me."

Carol sighed and knelt to her daughter's level. When her little girl's chin wobbled, guilt tightened her throat, and it was several seconds before she could manage to speak. "You'll be fine. You know how I know?"

Sophia's shiny eyes sought the floor and she pressed her cheek into the soft neck of her stuffed toy, muffling her response. "How?"

"Because you're my brave girl."

"But I'm not," Sophia sniffled. "I'm not brave, Mommy. I'm scared."

Carol cupped Sophia's face in her hands and smiled at her as she gently thumbed away her tears. She decided to try another tactic. "Sophia, do you think Mommy's brave?"

Without any hesitation Sophia nodded. "Uh huh."

Carol's thumbs slid down to trace the worried line of her baby's mouth, her voice nothing more than a soft murmur in the large echoing room. "What would you say if Mommy told you she was scared sometimes?"

Sophia frowned and a concerned furrow developed between her brows. "But you're not."

"I am." Carol's list of fears was long and varied, ranging from those she deemed foolish (snakes, gory zombie movies, small and dark places) to the more serious (failing in this new educational endeavor of hers, not being the mother Sophia deserved, never gaining the courage to open her heart to love again),but she wouldn't burden her daughter with them. "You can be scared of something and still be brave."

"How?"

Tucking a curl behind Sophia's ear, Carol considered her words carefully, knowing she had her little girl's rapt attention and she had a chance to build her up, not tear her down as Ed so often had in her short life with his cutting words and angry hands. "You fight it. And you don't give up. And then one day, you just change." She pressed a quick kiss to Sophia's forehead then pulled back. "Fighting against your fears, even just trying…it makes you brave. Maybe not at first, maybe not always, but it does, Sweetie, and I know you can do it." She peppered her baby's flushed, freckled cheeks with more kisses and tried to gently steer her into calmer waters with a little bit of a bribe, a reminder of happier things. "Now, c'mon. Ms. Olivia says the pancakes are the best. And I know how much you love pancakes."

Sophia's nose scrunched up, and she gave a slow, solemn shake of her head, not allowing herself to be so easily distracted. "I'm not ready for one day yet, Mommy."

Carol suppressed a sigh and squeezed the little hand that had wormed its way into her own before standing up. She couldn't be mad. She couldn't even claim disappointment. Not when each day in this new life they found themselves navigating presented another daunting challenge, and she still struggled sometimes to follow her own advice and conquer her own fears.

"Stay, Mommy," Sophia appealed with big, pleading puppy eyes. "Please."

Carol bit her lip as she stared into her daughter's glistening eyes. New student orientation at the college was required and she didn't want to be late. Glancing at the clock across the room, she mentally calculated how much time she had left, not wanting to leave Sophia in such a fretful condition. Carol didn't, after all, want her daughter to associate her going back to school with even the slightest feelings of abandonment; that fervent desire, in the end, made her decision a no-brainer.

The pancakes really were good, but the eggs were the disgusting powdered kind that all school cafeterias seemed to have in abundance.

Carol smiled and pretended not to notice when Sophia hid hers beneath a crumpled napkin, choosing instead to direct her gaze elsewhere. She was somewhat surprised to find she wasn't the only adult occupying a child-sized table. There were actually several. Most of them were teachers, yes, but there were some fellow parents scattered about the cafeteria, and one in particular captured her attention; she was accompanied by a little girl clad entirely in pale pink: pink sequined head band with cat ears, pink dance leotard, pink tights, and pink ballet flats. As Carol watched, the woman leaned down and the little girl whispered something into her ear. Before she knew it, the pair of them were approaching their table with their trays.

Sophia practically vibrated with anticipation beside her when the little girl offered them both a sunny but shy smile of greeting and plopped her tray down across from Sophia's own, momentarily toppling her carton of milk in the process.

"Hi." 

"Meghan, be more careful," the dark haired woman with the little girl chastised softly, mopping up the small mess without a second thought and placing the soiled napkin and the remainder of the milk on her own tray. Turning to Carol, she offered her own more self-assured version of a smile and introduced herself. "I'm Lilly, mom to the clumsy little Pink Panther over there."

"And the school nurse," Meghan quietly chipped in, barely giving Carol a glimpse of her proud and sticky grin.

Lilly shook her head fondly at her daughter and echoed her statement. "And the school nurse. You must be Sophia's mom."

Sophia inserted herself into the conversation equally as bashfully as Meghan had before Carol could formulate a response, fixing her gaze on her fork as she twirled it through the sluggish pool of syrup on her tray. "My mommy's going to school to be a nurse."

"Just like my mine?" Meghan perked up, her earlier reticence disappearing in the face of her excitement. Climbing to her knees, she looked back to Carol with wide blue eyes. "Maybe you can be a school nurse too. Then me and Sophia could be twins."

Lilly rolled her eyes good-naturedly and nudged her daughter until she was once again sitting on her bottom. "I don't think that's the way it works." Taking the seat across from Carol, she made herself comfortable and regarded her tablemates with pale, astute eyes. Detecting a lingering hint of discomfort on Carol's part, she offered a sheepish apology. "I'm sorry we just invited ourselves over, but Meghan recognized Sophia and I knew I had to meet the little girl that's made such a lasting impression on my daughter."

Any subterfuge on the other mother's part was minimal at best, and Carol decided to take her statement at face value, letting her off the hook with a welcoming smile. "Meghan made just as lasting an impression on Sophia."

"Oh, really?" Lilly raised an interested brow. "All I've heard out of this one is Sophia this, Sophia that." She gave her daughter another nudge, this one openly affectionate and playful, and shifted her focus to Sophia. "You're officially Meghan's new favorite person."

Sophia hid her smile and her pink cheeks behind her stuffed dog. She frowned when the soft, fluffy, fake fur stuck to her lips and huffed. When the action only seemed to make more fur stick to her lips and laughter peel from Meghan's lips, Sophia ducked her head and giggled too.

The sound was infectious, and Carol found herself sharing another smile with Lilly, her heart lighter and more carefree than it had been all morning; Sophia would be okay, and so would she. "Call me Carol," she insisted, idly tidying up the space around them and tossing the paper straw wrappers and nearly empty milk carton atop Sophia's tray. Lifting a brow at the girls' silly antics, she shook her head and wrinkled her nose at the loose curl that tickled across her lips. "Something tells me this could go on a while."

Lilly gave a little nod of understanding, and the smile on her face blossomed into a full-fledged grin. "Meghan is a world class giggler." She carefully stacked Meghan's tray on top of her own and pushed them aside. "Here's hoping they get it out of their systems before class. Mr. Williams already has his work cut out for him. Penny Blake and the little Grimes boy in the same class? I'm telling you…that man has the patience of a saint."

 

~*~

 

The giggling had died down only somewhat by the time Carol left Sophia in Lilly's capable hands, the other woman pledging to escort both girls to their classroom on the way to her office. The invitation to join Meghan's dance class was repeated, by both Chamblers, and Carol was touched by the nurse's offer of help with her future studies.

Things really were looking up.

The duplex was nothing fancy, sure, just four walls and a roof. But it was clean and it was theirs; in Carol's book, that counted for something. Sophia was already adjusting better than expected in her new school, and to hear Lilly tell it, she was quite the popular little girl with all the kids in hers and Meghan's class in spite of her natural shyness. Mr. Williams was quickly gaining her daughter's trust, and the man had all but instantly endeared himself to Carol. Add in the job she'd yet to officially start at the vet clinic, and she really couldn't complain. Not even when she arrived at the college with less than five minutes to spare with absolutely no clue how to find the main auditorium. Grabbing her purse and locking the old car's doors, she hurried across campus with determination, crinkled map in hand.

The auditorium doors closed behind her with a heavy slam that echoed, even in the crowded space. The dimmed lights made the steps a challenge, and there were virtually no empty seats, all of them occupied by fresh faced teens who obviously felt no compunction about staring, even as the speaker at the podium onstage droned on with barely a pause.

It was enough to test Carol's newfound resolve, but she swallowed down her unease and took a seat down in the front, digging through her purse for a pen and accepting the packet of papers passed to her by a brunette with bright eyes and a nonjudgmental smile. She murmured her thanks and focused her attention straight ahead, dutifully taking notes when necessary.

The next hours passed slowly, the welcome message delivered dryly and subsequent speakers just as monotone as they covered various topics such as tuition and fees, buying textbooks, acquiring student IDs and parking decals, and the student handbook as a whole. The breaks offered were few and much too brief.

More than once, Carol found herself fighting back a yawn, and in spite of her best intentions, her mind started to wander, to the calm before their little storm of uncertainty this morning.

The pepperoni and cheese Lunchable had been a hit with Sophia, a treat Ed had never allowed and a welcome change from her routine of peanut butter and jelly crust-less sandwiches and apple slices. Though the appeal was largely lost on her, the smile and hug it garnered from her little daughter had been more than worth it, and Sophia's happiness was always a beautiful thing to behold.

The small gesture had paid off big, and Carol's thoughts had drifted, as they were even now, to the handsome stranger from the store.

Daryl. 

God. Just the memory of that sexy smirk of his had her blood heating, and she lifted a hand to her throat and sighed because these thoughts of hers were only getting worse, more and more frequent, and it had been less than a week since they'd first crossed paths. Maybe Andrea hadn't been too far off the mark with her semi-teasing remark and wasn't that just delightful? She had no prospects. Her heady flirtations with Daryl didn't count because…well, she just knew they didn't somehow. She didn't attract guys like him; she never had and probably never would, and it really didn't even matter because she had Sophia. And she was okay with that. She loved her daughter. She didn't need anybody else. She didn't. Andrea was wrong. Andrea had to be wrong. She just had to be…

"Hey."

Carol shook her head sharply when she realized someone was talking to her. Not only that, the auditorium was swiftly emptying, and her brain was all fuzzy with the remnants of longing and lust. "Oh my God. I'm sorry," she apologized, gathering her purse and the rest of her things together and standing. "I was…" Her eyes briefly fluttered shut as she searched for a suitable explanation for her behavior, but she had none and settled, reluctantly, for the truth. "I was somewhere else."

The pretty brunette grinned and tucked her chin length hair behind her ears. "Must have been somewhere good."

Carol felt the pink flush on her cheeks deepen and groaned. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," the girl said, approaching with her hand held out and a knowing twinkle in her eyes. "Name's Maggie. Yours is?"

"Carol," Carol supplied, juggling her purse and papers to free up her own hand. "Looks like I missed something pretty important," she commented with a wince, noting their now vacant surroundings. "Is it over?"

"Finally, you mean?" Maggie laughed. "You can say it. Don't feel bad." She fell into step beside Carol as they made their way to the nearest exit and held the heavy door open for her to pass. "You're satisfying a requirement. You did your part by showing up."

Carol flinched when they emerged from the auditorium into the bright afternoon sun and held up a shielding hand. "I don't know about that." Students were heading in several different directions, and thanks to her little daydreaming session, she really had no idea where she should be headed herself. "Looks like I zoned out for the biggest part of it." Great. She was already on a tight schedule as it was, barely squeezing in an appointment with a financial aid advisor before she had to leave to pick up Sophia. How was she going to accomplish everything else on her orientation to do list if she didn't even know where to start? "This isn't good," she muttered. "I don't even know where to begin."

"Lucky you have me then." Maggie squinted into the sun and hooked her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans. "C'mon. I'll show you to the Cashier's Office, and we'll get your student ID out of the way. Then you can buy a parking decal, and you won't have to park all the way over in King County."

Carol laughed. "It's not that bad."

"You say that now," Maggie smirked, "but classes aren't even officially in session yet. Give it a couple more weeks, and you'll be singing a different tune."

 

~*~

 

Maggie was very helpful, and it was really no surprise, especially when Carol discovered she wasn't a fellow new student suffering through orientation like her, but a returning student that had volunteered her afternoon to be of help to her new classmates. Student IDs and parking decals out of the way, they briefly detoured to the student center, where they grabbed a quick snack before heading toward the school library. Carol stowed her half eaten bag of Skittles inside her purse and followed Maggie up the steps to the impressively old building. "This place looks older than the whole campus."

"That's because it is."

Inside, it was an impressive mixture of the past and the present, and the smell of old books lingered heavily in the air even as the click clack of computer keys rose above the hushed hum of multiple voices.

Carol nearly stumbled into Maggie when she came to an abrupt stop, fishing a cell phone out of her jeans pocket and frowning at its screen.

A woman with a thick braid resting over one shoulder pointed an irate finger at Maggie then the door. "You know the rule. Phones are prohibited. Turn it off or get out of my library."

Maggie sighed and turned to face Carol, the phone cradled to her chest. "I have to take this, but I'll be right outside."

"You've done so much already." When Maggie didn't look convinced, Carol gifted her with a gentle, humor-filled smile; she found the younger woman's concern sweet and unnecessary. She'd survived harsher things, after all, than setting up her school email. "Seriously, Maggie. I'll be fine. I'm a big girl."

"I won't be long," Maggie promised.

Carol laughed. "You will if you don't go."

"Go just around that corner. You can't miss it. I won't be long," Maggie promised again with a grateful smile, hurrying out the way they'd come, the phone lifted to her ear.

The librarian's suspicious scowl bored burning holes into Carol's back as she departed, and she was inordinately grateful to be rid of the unnerving woman and in better company. Much better company, she realized as she spotted a familiar baseball cap.

Glenn blushed beneath the power of her beaming smile, tugging the bill of his hat low over his eyes momentarily before pushing it back again and grabbing a clipboard from the table he was perched upon. "Hey."

Carol found his stammered greeting adorable, and she had the sudden overwhelming urge to pinch his baby cheeks, though truthfully, there wasn't that great a difference in their ages. It was his fresh-faced naivety and helpless optimism, she decided, that made him seem so very much younger, and she hoped he held on to it for as long as he could in this oftentimes unsentimental world. "Glenn," she acknowledged as she took the seat he hurried to pull out for her. "I need your help. Again. Our school emails are quite literally our lifelines. Or so I've been told. I haven't had a personal email in years so I'm afraid I'm a little rusty."

Her sheepish admission spurred the young Asian into action, and he leaned over her shoulder, molding his hand over the mouse. A couple of rapid fire clicks, and the email setup homepage popped up on screen. "It's really simple."

Carol didn't know about that, and she grabbed her purse, unearthing her own phone. She looked up in alarm when Glenn hissed a warning.

"You better not let Scary Mary see that."

When it became patently obvious how much of a cell phone novice she still was—dear Lord, it took her forever to type anything with the tiny buttons, and she had this irrational hatred of the autocorrect function and just knew it would land her in hot water one day, Glenn snatched the phone from her, his fingers flying over the screen even as he darted covert glances over his shoulder. He even took a few step by step pictures for her, and soon Carol's phone was safely stashed back out of sight and she had accessed her new email address. She was skimming through the handful of messages already there when Glenn whistled beneath his breath, obviously having read over her shoulder. His puzzling reaction made her frown. "What?"

Glenn shrugged and studiously avoided her eyes, no doubt embarrassed at being caught. "Nothing."

"Glenn," Carol persisted. "Tell me."

"It's just…Professor Jenner is your academic advisor."

"So?"

"Professor Jenner is crazy smart. Both Professors Jenner are. Or maybe just crazy, I don't know."

"Wow," Carol muttered dryly, her blue eyes twinkling. "I feel so much better now. Any other wisdom you want to impart? Rumors you want to spread?"

Glenn coughed uncomfortably and remained mum in the face of her teasing. He looked up when Carol softly touched his forearm, and his eyes grew impossibly round and his face flushed an interesting shade of scarlet.

"I'm just teasing you," she told him. "Glenn, seriously. I didn't mean anything by it. Relax," she urged, glancing over her shoulder to follow his line of sight, only to spy Maggie walking toward them. Her own blue eyes widened when she realized just how obtuse she'd been, and she slid her hand down to his wrist, her fingers loosely encircling it as his panicked eyes met hers. "Your Maggie?"

"Shh! Don't say that. She might hear you. Oh no. Oh God. Here she comes. Act cool. Act like everything's alright. Just…Ma-Maggie. Maggie Greene. Hello, Maggie. Hi."

Carol bit her lips to keep from laughing as she watched the charmingly awkward interaction between two of her newest friends. Glenn looked like he was about to come out of his own skin; Maggie just looked confused, but she handled Glenn's bumbling greeting with grace and a curiously arched brow.

"Hi." Her large, expressive eyes briefly caught Carol's gaze, as if asking for help. "I'm sorry. I've seen you around, but I'm afraid I don't remember your name."

Glenn looked dumbstruck, and Carol suspected it wasn't from the humbling realization that Maggie didn't even know his name. No, his near-catatonic state was solely due to finding out the girl of his dreams had simply noticed him around. She didn't laugh, but she couldn't stifle the huge grin that made her cheeks hurt when she decided to be a good friend and save Glenn from himself. "This is Glenn, and he's been a lifesaver to me in the short time we've known each other, a really dear friend."

"I deliver pizzas," Glenn blurted suddenly. "Anybody hungry? I can get us a really good deal."

Carol covered her mouth with her hand and subtly shook her head, her blue eyes dancing.

Thankfully, Maggie let him down gently, too distracted by her own worries to pay Glenn's odd outburst much mind. "Maybe some other time." Looking down to Carol, she offered her an apologetic smile. "That was Spencer. Holly made a mistake on the last batch of his mom's campaign flyers, and literally hundreds of them have already been distributed."

"Sounds like he needs your help."

"He does." Maggie looked conflicted as she glanced from Carol to Glenn and back. "Do you think you'll be able to find someone else to give you the rest of the tour? Glenn, do you think you can help her?"

Hearing his name fall from Maggie's lips made Glenn's chest puff up with pride, and Carol felt he redeemed himself nicely when he readily agreed to be her guide.

"Sure. Sure. I can show Carol around."

Maggie beamed. "Do you got a pen? Oh, and a piece of paper? Just give me your hand if you don't."

Glenn took one for the team and offered her his sweaty palm. He quivered like an excited puppy as Maggie scribbled her phone number on his skin.

"If you guys need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to call me. I'm so sorry to be running out on you like this, Carol."

Carol waved her off warmly. "Don't worry about it. I'm in good hands. Right, Glenn?"

"Really good hands," Glenn mumbled, cradling the hand with Maggie's number on it to his chest like it was something precious. He only grew more besotted when Maggie expressed her thanks.

"I owe you one, Glenn. Carol. It was nice meeting you both."

They watched her go, and Carol finally let her humor spill forth in the form of giddy, girlish giggles, Glenn's goofy grin doing absolutely nothing to help her calm herself as everyone within their immediate vicinity turned to scowl at them, including the apparitional Scary Mary herself. "Real smooth, Romeo. Real smooth. You know you're eventually going to have to wash that hand, right?"

 

~*~

 

The meeting with Professor Jenner had gone well, and Carol left the woman's office with a newfound respect for Glenn's observational skills when it came to people. The woman wasn't just crazy smart; she was quite obviously brilliant, and Carol was awed and humbled to be benefiting from the woman's advice about her academic career. There was a story there, no doubt, about how a woman of her knowledge found herself teaching at a little Georgia community college instead of one of the more prestigious four year universities at her disposal, but it wasn't Carol's place to question a circumstance that had indirectly led to her own good fortune. Too bad her financial aid advisor hadn't instilled within her a similar state of ease. The stuffy old man had actually seemed put off and judgmental of her broken marital status, but Carol hadn't let his backward demeanor affect her too much. Besides Sophia, her divorce from Ed had been one of the best things gifted to her. She was only sorry she hadn't taken action sooner, but what was life without a few mistakes?

Her phone buzzed with what seemed like a hundred text messages when she turned it back on and tossed it into the passenger seat of her car.

Cranking the car, Carol rolled down the windows to let some of the steamy air escape before picking her phone back up. Shaking her head, she furrowed her brows as she began to read the messages, the biggest percentage of them, it seemed, from Andrea. She'd only slogged a third of the way through them before the phone vibrated in her hand, the woman herself calling. Tucking the phone between her ear and her shoulder, she started to back out of her parking space, and was in the process of apologizing to the pissed off student who'd materialized out of nowhere to walk directly into her path when her friend answered.

"Where have you been? I've left you a dozen text messages and three voicemails."

Sure enough, the telltale da-da-ding alerting her to a new voicemail started to go a little haywire, and Carol had to hold the phone at arm's length; it sounded like a fussy little robotic woman giving her hell for having the nerve to have a life. When it finally quit making all that annoying racket, she put Andrea on speaker and stowed the phone safely on her dashboard, pulling out of the school parking lot and making a turn on to the highway that would take her home. "More like three dozen and five voicemails," she muttered, holding up a hand to keep the curly chaos that was her hair out of her face and her mouth as the car gained speed and the wind whipping through the still open windows picked up.

"What is that sound?" Andrea's tinny voice groused. "You sound like you're in a wind tunnel."

"That's because I am," Carol smirked, taking a moment to roll up the driver's side window. She left the other side down while the Honda's air conditioner sputtered pathetically, and the result was a constant whap-whap-whap that she couldn't bear longer than a few seconds before she rolled it up too. "Sorry. Is that better?"

"Much."

Carol matched Andrea's sigh of relief with one of her own, ignoring the sweat that had already started to dampen the nape of her neck. Where was one of Sophia's hair ties when you needed it? Dumping the contents of her purse out on the passenger seat one-handed only served to create a mess she knew she'd have to clean up later, and Carol's patience was wearing more than a bit thin while she waited for Andrea to say something, anything, to fill the silence that had fallen between them now that they could actually hear each other. In an uncharacteristic move, she finally breached the void, the first stirrings of worry tightening her stomach. "Andrea? Did something happen? Are you okay?"

"You didn't read my messages, did you?" Andrea accused.

"You didn't give me the chance to finish them all," Carol defended herself with a frown. "Listen, just tell me what's going on."

"I don't want to discuss it over the phone."

Carol couldn't help herself; she snorted in disbelief. Her friend sounded petulant and somewhat hurt when she responded.

"What?"

"Nothing. Nothing." Carol found herself shaking her head even though Andrea couldn't see her. She had the evidence to prove differently, but she knew better than to argue. Andrea was a damn fine attorney and they both knew it. That didn't mean she couldn't needle her a bit, as best friends were privileged to sometimes do. "Just…you could have fooled me." When the other end of the line stayed quiet, and the silence started to stretch and yawn between them once more, Carol bit the bullet and apologized. "Look. I'm sorry. It's been a long day, and I've been running behind for most of it. The last thing I want to do is be late and make Sophia think I forgot her. I've put her through so much already."

"Am I on her list?"

The question surprised Carol, but her response was immediate. "You know you are."

"How about I pick Sophia up from school, and we'll talk over dinner? My treat. I'm halfway there already."

Carol picked up her phone and turned the speaker off, manipulating her steering wheel with one white-knuckled hand. "Now you're scaring me. You'd tell me, wouldn't you, if something had happened? Something terrible?" The vise grip she had on the steering relaxed only marginally at Andrea's answer, and she sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. "Yeah, well. It's not the Ritz, but you know you're always welcome. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. I just need to swing by the apartment and clean up a little. Not the apartment. Me. Because I'm a complete and total mess and you always look like you've stepped out of a fashion magazine. Isn't that enough of a reason?" She laughed, and the knot in the pit of her belly started to unravel, strand by strand. "Whatever you say. Sophia probably needs a bath too. Fine. I'll let you be the judge. It'll be good practice. No, I didn't mean it that way. I promise. Bye, Andrea. Goodbye. And, please. Try not to spoil my daughter too much. Yeah. Bye for real." Carol hung up the phone with a smile on her face, certain Andrea was hiding something from her but not too concerned; her friend had sounded anxious, not upset, and that was a good thing. Carol could work with anxiety, seeing how she was on intimate terms with the emotion these days. Tossing her phone back into the passenger seat, she reached for the radio and she didn't even care what song it was; she turned it up full volume just because she could.

Fridays were Fun Days, after all.

 

~*~

 

"Oh. My. God."

Carol rolled her eyes before she even deigned to turn around. Even if she wanted to, and there had been a few times during their long and enduring friendship, there was no mistaking that voice.

Andrea's eyes were comically round, and the "Carol" that fell from her stunned mouth resembled a squeak more than anything.

"Like you've never seen me in a dress before." Carol pulled her purse further up her arm and her fingers lingered at her shoulder afterward, nervously toying with the thin spaghetti straps that were the only thing holding up the bright blue sundress she'd donned on a whim. August in Georgia was brutal, and she attributed her choice to the heavy, unrelenting heat but Carol knew that hadn't been the whole of it—at least on a subconscious level. All she knew for sure was that she'd felt like a new person when she'd slipped the knee length dress over her head, pretty as she'd pulled her bothersome red curls into a messy ponytail, and lighter than she'd felt in years. "It's not couture or anything. I bought it at that little consignment shop down on Main." When that fact failed to snap Andrea out of her little trance, Carol grabbed her hand and hissed out a plea. "Andrea! Stop gawking. People are starting to stare." People were starting to stare, had done so, in fact, from the moment she had exited her car and walked the block and a half it took to reach the King County Café. She was seriously starting to second guess the dress. Unsurprisingly, it was her daughter that changed her mind.

"You look beautiful, Mommy."

"Thank you, Sweetie." Shaking her head at Andrea's stupor, Carol glanced down at her baby girl with a smile on her face, but her smile quickly froze. "Sophia, what are you holding? Andrea," she addressed her friend in a carefully controlled voice. "What does my daughter have in her hands?"

Andrea was saved from answering her by divine intervention (she didn't even believe in). She lifted the buzzing, flashing brown disk in her hands and waved it beneath Carol's nose. "Looks like our table's ready!"

The perky teen girl at the podium must have sensed the tension snapping between the two of them. She quickly seated them at one of the little wrought iron tables outside, gave them each a menu and Sophia some crayons, and left.

A fish of brilliant orange seemed to stare insolently at Carol from its little bowl, Sophia's stuffed dog carelessly propped beside it. Shaking her head again, Carol couldn't keep all traces of a whine out of her voice when she confronted her friend. "Seriously, Andrea. A goldfish?"

"He's not a goldfish, Mommy," Sophia piped up helpfully then promptly returned to the picture she was painstakingly scribbling across her children's menu.

"She's right," Andrea beamed proudly. "He's a betta fish. I thought taking care of him would be good practice for Sophia's future puppy."

Sophia's future puppy had always been that, a future puppy. Something far off and imagined, not completely unattainable, but not completely tangible either. Carol promised herself someday she'd give her little girl more than fluff and stuffing to lavish love on, but they weren't there yet; Andrea knew that. "Because puppies and goldfish are so much alike."

"Betta fish, Mommy!"

"Puppies and betta fish," Carol corrected herself. "Andrea, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking Sophia had a new house too, and plants don't make good housewarming gifts for goddaughters."

Carol's lips twitched, and her anger and irritation melted away. "He's quite handsome," she finally allowed.

"Because boys can't be pretty," Sophia giggled, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.

The curls she'd so proudly worn earlier had softened into gentle waves that lovingly cradled her face, and Carol felt a tug at her heartstrings as she smiled back at her daughter. "I don't know…"

"…I've seen some pretty boys in my time," Andrea effortlessly finished Carol's sentence as she matched the pair's happy expressions.

The waitress must have sensed all was well in their little corner of the restaurant and returned to take their orders.

Carol protested when Andrea refused to let her order a salad, and she would have gladly crawled beneath their table and hid when their rib platters arrived, complete with enough sides to feed an army. But the food and the company was good, and somewhere along the line, she forgot to feel embarrassed. She hadn't realized just how hungry she was; half a bag of Skittles could only stretch so far.

More than halfway through their meal, Sophia spotted Carl and his family being seated two or three tables down.

Carol allowed Sophia to go say hi, keeping a close eye on her until Carl's mother lifted her hand in a friendly wave and his father tipped his hat at her and Andrea. The other guest at their table, Officer Walsh, did the same.

Pretty and thin and young, Lori Grimes had already reached out to Carol through Carl, sending an invitation via her son to the boy's birthday party in a few weeks. The invitation had also included a short note, extending an offer of friendship of her own.

Though they had yet to exchange a word in person, Carol liked the other woman. Her love for her mischievous son imbued every word in her letter, and watching her with Sophia and Carl across the way, Carol knew that feeling hadn't been faked. She startled when she realized Andrea was speaking.

"Looks like some things never change."

Carol's brow crinkled in confusion as she dragged a French fry through the small pool of barbecue sauce on her plate. "Are you talking about Carl's father or Officer Walsh?"

"Both," Andrea shrugged.

"You know them," Carol frowned slightly. "How?"

"How do you think?" Andrea smirked. "Our paths might have crossed a time or two. You don't do what I do and not have contact with their kind at some point."

"What kind of contact?" Carol asked dryly, not entirely sure she wanted to know if the wicked twinkle in her friend's pale eyes was anything to go by.

"I might have sampled the merchandise." Andrea grinned around her straw. "There was a lot of anger there, but Officer Walsh was a mighty fine fuck."

Carol felt her cheeks go up in flames and fished an ice cube out of her glass, rubbing it back and forth across her lips. "Would you keep your voice down?"

Andrea lifted one elegant shoulder in a shrug. "You asked." Snatching a fry from Carol's plate, she popped it into her mouth and chewed. "You know. You weren't this much of a prude in college."

The accusation was made with fondness, but it still ruffled Carol's feathers, and she slid her plate just out of Andrea's reach when she tried to steal another fry. "I am not a prude."

"Sure you aren't." Andrea grinned knowingly. "Tell me about your Skittles guy."

This time, Carol's eyes grew unnaturally wide, and she sputtered to formulate an intelligent response even as the heat in her cheeks spread rapid-fire through the rest of her limbs and body. "What? Who told you about Daryl?"

"Daryl, huh?" Andrea looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. "Who do you think told me? My goddaughter is an absolute wealth of information."

 

~*~

 

Carol was saved from having to say anything else by Sophia and Carl's arrival at their table.

The little boy climbed into the vacant chair at their table with nary a word in their direction, too consumed with fascination for the finned creature floating inside the little bowl, the pirate's patch he'd worn to school magnified and distorted in the glass. "Cool! Whatcha gonna name him?"

"Nemo?" Sophia offered.

Carl wrinkled his freckled nose in distaste. "What about Jaws?"

Andrea hid her smile in her napkin and connected eyes with Carol. "What an appropriately cutthroat suggestion from our little pirate."

Carl stood tall and grinned proudly at them both, more than one baby tooth missing from his smile. "I'm Captain Carl!"

Carol bit her lip. "Captain Jack?"

"No, Mommy," Sophia giggled, cuddling her stuffed dog close as she resumed picking at her dinner. The result was a smear of barbecue sauce across her smiling mouth as she pointed out Carol's folly. "Captain Carl." She offered her friend some of her fries, and Carl dug in with delight, his own food yet to arrive at his parents' table.

"You're pretty, Mrs. Peletier."

Carol's mouth twitched with a smile as she accepted the compliment. "Why, thank you, Carl."

"Almost as pretty as 'Phia," Carl mumbled around a mouthful of food, any table manners he might have had apparently forgotten in his hunger.

"Sounds like he's been spending an awful lot of time with Uncle Shane," Andrea muttered quietly out of the side of her mouth. Not quietly enough, though, for Carl definitely heard her.

"Uncle Shane's the best. He don't know how to catch frogs, though," Carl muttered disappointedly.

Uncle Shane himself chose that moment to summon Carl to his own table. "Carl! C'mon, Man! Food's here!"

Once her friend was gone, Sophia pouted with disappointment, and Andrea seemed distracted by her phone. Carol debated calling it a night, but as proud as she was of finally making it on her own, the duplex was not the place to socialize and entertain guests. It was much too small for that. So when Andrea suggested ordering dessert, she put up a pitiful protest at best.

Andrea tried flagging down a waitress, but it was Friday evening at the most popular restaurant in town; the place was swamped and understaffed. "I'll go grab us some menus."

"Mommy, I have to pee," Sophia announced before Andrea got more than two steps away.

"Don't get up. I'll take her. You've had a long day." Andrea held out her arm and waited for Sophia to tuck her small body against her side. "We won't be long. I'll text you the choices. That way I can order them inside and hopefully save us a little time."

"You know what I like. Just order me something we can share." Carol could hear Andrea quizzing Sophia on what she wanted for her dessert as they disappeared through the double doors of the restaurant.

A young family much like the Grimes family exited the building, laughing and cutting up with each other. There were several couples and families occupying the benches lining each side of the café, still waiting for their names to be called, the last of the buzzers long since dispensed.

Carol knew they were lucky Andrea had arrived when she had, and she distracted herself from the longing stares of those waiting by playing with her phone. Well, it was more like trying to figure out how to operate her phone, but Andrea wasn't there to poke fun at her technological ineptness, so she didn't much care. She waved off the waitress when she tried to refill her iced tea. "Can you make it a refill of water instead? Three of them?" Instinctively she knew Andrea's dessert choice wouldn't only be full of calories; in the mood her friend was in, it'd be laden down with enough sugar to put a baby elephant into a diabetic coma.

"What? No drinks with little umbrellas?"

Carol's mouth curled with an unconscious smile as she lifted her head to meet a now familiar pair of blue gray eyes. "Daryl."

Daryl grabbed the chair Carl had so recently claimed as his own and turned it backwards, straddling it and crossing his arms across the back. "You see, Sweetheart, you're at an unfair advantage. I told you my name, but I still don't know yours."

Carol sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, distracted by the impressive display of his muscles and the tattoos inked across his sun kissed skin. She felt herself blush to the roots of her hair when she realized he was smirking at her, enjoying her open perusal of his considerable attributes. In spite of the muggy heat pressing in around her, and the scorched fire suddenly licking at her veins, she wished for a sweater to wrap around her bare shoulders. If the man had any doubts before about his effect on her, there was simply no denying it now. Every bit of her burned, from her head to her toes, and her body was the ultimate traitor right now, the flush staining her fair skin the equivalent of a flashing neon sign. There were no words to adequately describe the gratitude she felt when his avid attention was diverted elsewhere, and she choked out a laugh when he held the little bowl housing Sophia's fish up for closer inspection.

"Last I heard this place weren't no sushi bar."

"He's my daughter's. Housewarming gift," Carol explained with a small smile. Was she imagining it or did he look intrigued by that revelation? Before she could prevent it, her double-crossing mouth run away from her more cautious brain and volunteered information she had no business giving away to a complete stranger. "Sophia and I moved here from Atlanta a few weeks ago." Carol consoled herself with the thought that he didn't look like an ax-murderer. No, he just looked like the dessert her sex-starved body desperately craved instead of ice cream. "What about you? You from around here, Daryl?"

"Depends on who's asking."

Carol had to hand it to him; the man didn't lack for confidence, at least not outwardly. She found it much more attractive than Officer Walsh's brand of entitled arrogance. "Carol."

"What's that?" Daryl teased, his slate eyes dancing with unconcealed merriment at her discomfort. He paid the young waitress no mind as she refilled the glasses surrounding them both from an ice-filled pitcher of water, too intent on her reaction to his baiting words.

Carol sipped at her water and nearly moaned aloud as the cold liquid hit her tongue; the contrast was that great between the fire raging inside her and the beverage. She traced the rim of her glass with an idle finger as she looked up at him from beneath the veil of her lashes. "I'm asking. Now you know my name."

"Wasn't so hard now. Was it, Sweetheart?" Daryl grinned, reaching a hand out across the table to finger a curl that had escaped from her ponytail.

Carol held her breath when he let it go, and his thumb dropped to the corner of her mouth. She felt sure she would melt and ooze into a shapeless puddle on the ground when he removed it after a lingering moment, only to suck it into that sinful mouth of his that seemed to enjoy teasing her. She was only faintly aware of the quiet buzzing of her phone.

"Mmm. Always did think the sauce here could use more sugar."

Giddy laughter bubbled all the way up from her toes, and Carol felt that livewire thread of tension between them snap and relax into something even more delicious as some long-buried part of her started to resurface and her own confidence grew by a degree. "You're terrible." His reaction to her gentle ribbing wasn't one she was expecting, and Carol felt her blood start to heat up anew.

"Ain't had no complaints before." Daryl leaned back in his chair and regarded her with smoldering eyes, his pale irises disappearing beneath the black of his pupils.

"No." The Sahara state of Carol's throat made swallowing and further words difficult, but she managed. "I don't guess you have."

The air between them shifted, sizzled, and spontaneous combustion was a near certainty until the young waitress from before returned, her arms laden with bags of food. "Here you go, Mr. Dixon. Everything should be in there, including the corn dog and extra order of onion rings. You sure you don't want nothing to drink?"

"I'm good, Lacey."

Like a switch, Daryl turned on the easy charm and something, something familiar, in the interaction niggled at Carol's consciousness, but try as she might, she couldn't quite grab hold of it and bring it to the forefront of her lust-blinded mind. She was quick to offer a smile when Daryl's eyes returned to her face and nodded at the food in his hands. "You better be getting that home if you want to eat it while it's still warm."

Daryl's response was nothing more than a husky growl. "Yeah. Best be getting on. See you around, Sweetheart?"

"Only if you're lucky."

"Damn sure hope I am."

 

~*~

 

Hours later, when Sophia was safely snuggled in her bed and Andrea was taking her sweet time in the shower down her hall, Carol still hadn't managed to push Daryl Dixon from her mind. She read over her friend's ignored text message again, wondering if she were so obvious in her attraction and if she could trust that Daryl's own interest in her were real and not some figment of her wanting imagination.

You keep drooling over your piece of man candy. I'll distract Sophia like the excellent friend that I am.

When Andrea walked into the bedroom, one towel tucked tightly across her breasts and another wrapped around her wet blond hair, Carol pressed her for the truth. "Was I? Drooling, I mean?"

Andrea picked up the pair of shorts Carol had lent her to sleep in and put them on underneath the old beach towel that had never seen a grain of sand, grinning over her shoulder before unceremoniously dropping said towel. "You weren't drooling, Honey." Barely a beat passed before she clarified what she meant. "You were salivating."

Carol covered her face with her hands and threw herself back on the bed, unable to completely muffle her groan of embarrassment. She peeked between her fingers at Andrea when she joined her on the bed with a bounce. "Andrea, you're supposed to be my friend."

"Best damn friend you ever had," Andrea reminded her, gently prying her fingers from her face. "C'mon. It wasn't so bad. From where I was standing, things between you and your sexy Skittles guy weren't one-sided at all."

"The man would flirt with a rock."

Andrea snorted and pulled the pillow out from behind her back, fluffing it some before replacing it. "Maybe. Maybe not. But the next time you see that man out, you better take advantage of what he was offering." She stretched her long legs out and started lathering them with lotion.

Carol had always envied her friend's clear, unblemished skin and womanly curves. Andrea was effortlessly sexy. Carol's own curls, freckles, and unremarkable body had long ago earned her the label of cute, and there was simply no way a man that looked like Daryl Dixon did harbored any serious feelings of lust for her. "Andrea…he's not…"

Andrea, ever the brilliant lawyer, was ready for Carol's attempted rebuttal, and she snagged the covers at the foot of the bed with her toe in a half-hearted attempt to pull them up. "Oh, he's offering, Honey. You just haven't taken your blinders off yet."

"You're ridiculous," Carol scoffed, scooting to the end of the bed and bringing the covers back up with her when she returned to Andrea's side. "I'm not wearing any blinders."

"You'd miss the Empire State Building if it was in front of you," Andrea dryly told her. "Godzilla would get the jump on you. A flaming meteorite could streak across the sky and you wouldn't even…"

"Okay, okay," Carol clamped a hand over Andrea's mouth and glared at her before reluctantly admitting the truth. "You've made your point. Maybe I only pay attention to the things I want to see, especially where men are concerned. Is that really so bad?"

Andrea arched a sculpted brow at her. "The man would have eaten you alive if you'd only asked. In this particular case, I'd say yeah. The blinders are a bad thing. Carol, you were hot."

Carol blushed, unused to the foreign compliment.

"You are hot," Andrea reiterated with a teasing grin. "Actually look in a mirror sometime if you don't believe me."

"You'd flirt with a rock too," Carol mumbled, again hiding her face behind her hands.

"Definitely," Andrea agreed. "But you don't have the kind of plumbing I prefer."

"Neither do you. Have the kind I prefer." Carol cracked up then (Andrea joined her), at the sheer ridiculousness of the conversation they were having, and it was like they were nineteen again, back in that tiny apartment, discussing the newest hot young thing to look their way. Well, mostly Andrea's way. Carol's experience with men had been nothing to really write home about before Ed, but it hadn't mattered. Her heart had been more open then; she'd more willingly put herself out there. She sighed as the years and realization caught up with her. Her ex-husband's fists and careless disregard for her and her daughter had changed so many things for the both of them. "It's different now, Andrea. I have Sophia."

"You have Sophia," Andrea reflected her words back at her, curling her hands beneath the coolness of her pillow. "Doesn't mean your sex life has to end."

"There has to be a sex life before it can end," Carol reminded her. "And no, before you say it, I don't consider your wonderful battery-operated housewarming surprise to be a viable partner."

Andrea smirked but let her continue without a word.

"I prefer my boyfriends have a pulse, thank you very much."

Andrea wrinkled her nose, her pale eyes twinkling in the low lamplight. "Don't knock on B.O.B. He's the first one ever got it right. Andy James couldn't tell a clit from a speck of dirt on the wall."

They muted their laughter with their pillows in a joint effort not to wake Sophia, the memory of the overconfident football jock still easily recalled all these years later, and Carol had to wipe the tears from her face when they had finally calmed. She threaded her fingers through the hand Andrea offered and squeezed. "I've missed you."

Andrea smiled at her in disbelief. "It's not even been a month."

"You know what I mean," Carol murmured, her blue eyes soft with fondness and her voice husky with encroaching sleep.

Andrea flopped onto her back, still holding Carol's hand, and brought it to rest on her stomach. "I know what you mean."

Ed had stolen this from them, this closeness and intimacy of chosen sisters. For too many years, Carol had survived on stolen crumbs that only hinted at the life her friend had forged for herself. She'd mourned Andrea's loss and felt the pain of their separation like the unexpected loss of a limb. "You still had Amy."

"It wasn't the same."

And it was a terrible thought, but Carol was pleased with that notion. Something occurred to her then, as her mind grew increasingly fuzzy with fatigue, and she yawned out the reminder. "You wanted to tell me something." She was only vaguely aware of Andrea kissing the back of her hand and tucking it back beneath her pillow with a sleepy smile of her own. "Andrea?"

"Sleep, Honey, and have sweet dreams of your candy man. My news will wait 'til tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I'm sorry it took so long to get up, but the chapter just kept growing and growing, lol. 
> 
> Hope you guys don't mind too terribly much. 
> 
> Carol fans will recognize a line I borrowed in the earlier parts of the chapter; it doesn't belong to me, and I mean no disrespect for using it here. The usual disclaimer applies. It just...fit. 
> 
> A little Maggie/Glenn cuteness snuck in there. Hope you got a giggle out of it. 
> 
> Andrea's news will keep; at least until we catch up with Carol again. 
> 
> Thanks so much for the reviews, the bookmarks, and the kudos. 
> 
> I can't promise the next chapter will be as long, but hopefully it won't take as long for me to post it.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess you can call this one the slow thaw of Daryl Dixon, lol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adult language, some innuendo, a little mild angst, a dash of UST. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Yours, Mine, and…Ours?

 

xx6xx

 

Unlit cigarette loosely held between his lips, elbows carelessly propped on the rough denim of his sprawled legs, Daryl absently played with the lighter in his right hand, flicking it off and on and off again. The air was still around him, sultry, the wind chime silent and frozen in place even as birds fluttered from limb to limb, danced across the grass as the sluggish sun fought its way heavenward. It was going to be another Georgia scorcher, and fuck if Daryl missed that shit. He sighed when he heard the kitchen door scrape open and plucked the stick of tobacco from his mouth, shoving it back in the crumpled foil package and into his jeans pocket. "Merle, I swear. If you give me any more flack for last night…"

"Last night? What happened last night?" Merle's raspy question dissolved into a quiet chuckle, but he didn't say anything more, merely held out a peace offering.

There was a shitload of reasons Daryl didn't do kids. Last night was merely case in point. But hell. If Merle weren't going to drag him for it, well, all right then; wasn't like the asshole had room to talk. Lifting a lazy brow at the phony oblivious act, Daryl tucked the lighter into his pocket and straightened, accepting the steaming mug of coffee between the cradle of his damp palms. When the glider shifted underneath the addition of his brother's weight a second later, he noted the absence of the hated prosthetic the dick had taken to wearing whenever the kid was around. "Tired of playing Captain Hook?"

Merle huffed out another laugh, this one strained, and his good hand unconsciously drifted to the irritated skin of his stump. "Son of a bitch chafes."

Daryl grunted in acknowledgement and took a careful sip of coffee before bending at the waist to place the ceramic cup on the ground between their feet. "The little shit still asleep?"

Merle didn't immediately respond.

Daryl knew without looking that his brother's narrow-eyed stare had caught and lingered on the exposed line of his back. Peering over his shoulder at him, he read guilt in the glitter of Merle's eyes in the soft morning light, heard it in the stuttered hitch of breath behind his clenched teeth, and for a terrible, stretching moment, the years seemed to melt away and he was a stupid, snot-nosed kid again. Daryl started to shake his head before the apology could work its way past his brother's thinned lips. They'd both fought their own wars, come out on the other side with scars. His war just happened to be a little closer to home is all. There was no need to drudge up old history when they had a big ass present day problem staring them in the face and damn if he could stand being looked at that way, pitied. "Didn't take you for a woman. I asked…"

"Yeah," Merle cut him off hoarsely. Clearing his throat, he matched Daryl's pose and knuckled the whiskers on his chin before draping his arm across his thigh. "The little shit's still asleep."

Sooner or later, they were going to have to decide what to do about the kid, and Daryl's idea about going to Grimes for help had been met with nothing but resistance so far from Merle. Likewise, his brother had grown cold feet when presented with a cheap drug store paternity test. Sure, it wasn't the most reliable option, but Daryl didn't think it was the worst idea either, finding out if they were even barking up the right tree. Still, the test remained unopened, hidden away in a sock drawer in the room he'd temporarily claimed as his own; he didn't want to dwell on his reasons for not taking the test.

Merle cut his eyes back over to Daryl's face briefly then fixed his gaze straight ahead. He clenched his jaw before sighing in apparent resignation and rubbing his palm roughly over his face. "Just spit it out, Boy."

"Ain't no boy." The scowling protestation was automatic, and Daryl regretted it instantly because it was just the distraction the asshole was looking for from a conversation he didn't want to have. When Merle's grim expression fell away and his mouth twisted too easily into a dirty, mocking smile, Daryl knew he'd been had, and he felt his stomach drop all the way to his fucking toes.

"That right? You call yourself a man now, Darylina?" Merle cackled obnoxiously, taking no small amount of delight in watching Daryl squirm.

The building heat of the day was only partially to blame for the deep flush that made Daryl's skin prickle and burn. The evil gleam in his brother's eyes was definitely doing its part.

"Because forgetting to lock the bathroom door for yer date with Rosey was a freshman mistake."

Merle nudged him with his knee, and Daryl put as much distance between them on the glider as he could. His eyes slammed shut, and he breathed harshly through his nose. "Christ."

"Thought I was gonna let that one go, didn't ya? Thought I weren't gonna say nothin'," Merle singsonged. "You should have known better, Baby Brother."

He should have known better. He did know better. But a certain pretty little red head had his ass turned all the fuck around, and all it'd taken was seeing those ocean eyes of hers light up with laughter, those freckles disappear beneath a pink flush of pleasure, and that sweet smile linger as he turned to walk away. She'd had his blood singing and his dick aching, and he'd barely managed a single glance past her shoulders. The trip home in Merle's old truck had been nothing more than a hazy blur survived by some miracle he didn't rightly deserve. Too bad he couldn't say the same for the rest of the evening. That nightmare had pushed him to take refuge once again underneath the stars. Until Merle had found him, like always. Dropping his head into his hands, Daryl pulled at his hair then growled. "You're an even bigger dick than I remember."

"Funny you should say that."

Daryl would like nothing more than to wipe that shit-eating grin off his brother's face with his fists, but past experience had him standing and bracing his weight against the porch railing instead; even mindless and snared in the net of a false high, Merle wasn't a glass jawed lightweight he could fell in one lick. Sober he could really do some damage if had a mind to, and this truce they had going on was too tentative to jeopardize because the bastard had crawled right back under his skin like he'd never left. No. He'd save himself the busted knuckles and bruised pride this time and let him (hopefully) get it all out of his system. Didn't mean he had to like it though. His thumb gravitating toward his mouth, Daryl let his gaze drift aimlessly, from the robins that were out in abundance, just starting up their sunny serenade, to the golden shimmer that peeked between the leaves of the pecan trees. He rolled his eyes when he realized Merle had joined him at the railing, the forgotten coffee mug in his hand, and finally snapped. "You through yet? Got more important things to talk about."

Merle's eyes twinkled, and he sucked his teeth in consideration, shaking his head. "See now. I don't mean to split hairs. But technically, you brought the subject up first."

Daryl bit down on his knuckle and snarled miserably. "Fuck me."

Merle didn't blink an eye at his obvious agitation, but he did offer up a piece of (recycled) advice with a small shrug of his shoulders. "Could be Wednesday Addams is on to something."

"The hell you talking about, Merle?"

"C'mon. You telling me you don't see the resemblance? The kid at the store. Yer little matchmakin' Skittles dealer," he elaborated with a wave of his hand. "She looks like…you know what, Darylina? Never you mind. The point I'm tryin' to make is this: maybe you should give the Mouse some flowers. I bet she'd be real appreciative. Bet she might even lend you a hand sometime." Daryl's clenched fists and dirty glare had him back-peddlin' somewhat, but in true Merle fashion, he couldn't help but grin with smug satisfaction. "Listen. You wanna talk 'bout Sam? We'll talk about 'im. But first things first. Hope you were perfectin' yer big speech to the boy 'bout the birds and the bees and blue balls last night while you was doin' yer stargazin'. 'Cause all jokes aside, that shit traumatized me."

Daryl sputtered incredulously when Merle pushed the coffee mug back into his hands and turned to leave. "The hell I will. I ain't the one wanting to play house. Someone needs to teach his little ass how to knock." His protests fell on willfully deaf ears.

"Thought we might take us a little trip to the park later today. Hand out some more of those flyers you made of Bo. Let the little shit run off some energy before we swing by the hardware store, see if the new door's in yet. So drink up. You're gonna need it."

"Right." Daryl laughed darkly.

"Kid deserves more than just us assholes as company."

Daryl really couldn't argue with that statement, so he didn't. Shaking his head when he heard the kitchen door scrape shut behind Merle, he lifted the mug in his hand to his lips, taking a distracted sip. Coffee immediately sprayed from his mouth when he got his first good look at the blocky black and white lettering across its surface and the dark dachshund silhouette that seemed innocent enough, given a person didn't have inside knowledge of the dirty workings of his brother's mind. The asshole wanted him to drink up, alright. Daryl groaned and unceremoniously dumped the rest of the coffee over the deck's edge.

PET MY WIENER? 

"Dammit, Merle."

 

~*~

 

Dammit, Merle quickly became a much muttered refrain for Daryl as morning crawled on, and the roses and shiny tin roof of the house weren't even a blur yet in the rearview mirror before his brother really pulled the rug right out from under him.

"You got a phone call last night."

Daryl's hand fell from his mouth, and he leveled a glare at his brother's profile over the top of the kid's oblivious head. "You just now telling me this?" Only a select few people knew how to reach him out here in Bumfuck, Georgia, and the idea that Merle had spoken to any one of them made the cheeks of his ass clench.

Merle didn't answer right away, too intent on navigating his jalopy over the bumpy road, his knuckles white beneath his fingers' fierce grip. Gravel kicked up beneath the tires, attacking the undercarriage of the old truck like machine gun fire, and dust plumed and coated the windshield. Only when they'd cleared the rough, weathered ruts of stone for the cracked asphalt of the narrow county road did he loosen his hold and relax enough to glance in Daryl's direction with a sly smile offered up for distraction. "Well, excuse me for bein' polite. Correct me for bein' wrong, but it looked like you had yer hands full last night."

The boy's sandy head snapped up when Daryl growled. Stopping mid-slurp, he let the straw from his juice box fall from his slack lips and his wide blue gaze darted uneasily between them before he dropped his chin and stared resolutely at his shoes.

Daryl took a deep breath and reigned in his anger, keeping his voice low and controlled. "You happen to get a name? Seeing as you were being Mr. Manners and all?"

A crease formed between Merle's brows, and he rolled his shoulder in something halfway resembling a shrug. "Loud, pretentious sounding asshole. Went by the name of some dead President. Jackson or Jefferson? Lincoln maybe?"

Abraham. Daryl sighed and rubbed his hands over his face for lack of any other method to calm the urge to throttle his brother. "Well?" he prodded, cringing when his brother merely echoed the question. Hell, but he didn't like this version of himself, the kid brother at Merle's mercy. Softly, he swore. "Dammit, Merle. Least tell me if he left a message."

Finally, they reached the main road, and Merle let the truck idle for a moment before merging into the light weekend traffic, looked Daryl square in the face. "Calm yer tits, Baby Brother. I know what yer thinkin', and you'd be wrong. I didn't do nothin' stupid like quit yer job for you. Just told 'im us Dixons still had some family business to attend to. The asshole promised to call back tonight if he hadn't heard from you by the end of the day."

"You sure that's all?"

"I didn't have to tell you 'bout the phone call at all. Now, did I?"

Merle's reminder achieved the desired effect, and Daryl nodded in relief, squinting at the sun that shone brilliant and bright even through the layers of grime decorating the windshield. Muttering a gruff word of gratitude, he lowered the window at his side, and warm air drifted in as the truck rumbled along. The kid started slurping his juice again, and Merle fumbled clumsily with the dials of the radio until Daryl swatted his hand away. "I got this. Stop trying to kill us."

Soon, the cramped cab of the truck was filled with the deep voice of the Man in Black claiming to have been everywhere.

Merle started singing along, if you could call that caterwauling such a thing, and Daryl's fingers drummed an unconscious accompaniment to the beat. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw those fugly Crocs twitch in time, and a tiny, reluctant smirk pulled at his mouth, the dusty side view mirror its only witness. Family business, indeed.

 

~*~

 

 

As soon as they entered the town limits, Merle changed his mind and Daryl was left to pass out flyers with Bo's likeness splashed all over them while his brother did business with a plaid-clad tool back at the hardware store. The clinging heat of the day and an opportunely timed growl of the little shit's stomach had led him to his current air conditioned refuge, and he was watching the kid devour a Bigfoot sized cupcake with something akin to morbid fascination when a vaguely familiar voice reached his ears.

"Dude! What kind of dad are you? Cupcakes for breakfast?" Tara hooked her sneakers around the rungs of the stool on the other side of the boy and propped her chin in her hand, her puppy grin bright and friendly. "Nice babe bait, Dixon." The comment and her innocent assumption earned her a scowl of warning, but she didn't seem perturbed at all.

On the contrary, Daryl watched with no small amount of amusement as she proceeded to make herself even more comfortable, batting her doe eyes at the pretty brunette who appeared out of nowhere and placed a Styrofoam cup of brew in front of her. The pink stain of her cheeks when her smile was reciprocated likewise didn't escape Daryl's notice, and he openly smiled at her when he lifted his own cup of coffee to his lips. "I thought you were immune to all modes of masculine charm."

"Not when they come in bite size."

"Bite size babe bait," Daryl snorted. "Nice."

"You like that?" Tara giggled. "I like that. Oh, look at those cheeks," she cooed. "Mind if I borrow him later?"

A frown developed between the kid's brows and along the line of his mouth, and the chocolate icing mustache he was sporting was all the more impressive for it. When he looked to Daryl with those old soul eyes, he was rewarded with a wad of paper napkins and a grudging word of reassurance.

"Sorry," Daryl intoned with a minuscule lift of his shoulder. "Kid's booked solid."

Tara pouted with mock disappointment and ruffled the fine, sandy strands of the boy's hair. "Maybe some other time?"

"Maybe some other time," Daryl agreed. The brunette reappeared, this time with a pink and green cardboard box that easily held half a dozen cupcakes and a pot of coffee in hand. She held the pot out in offering, but it was a perfunctory gesture at best, and it soon became apparent to Daryl that the young woman only had eyes for his ponytailed companion and his presence was quickly forgotten. When she finally left them to tend to another customer, Daryl could only shake his head.

"What?" Tara muttered in question as she traced an absent nail around the lid of her coffee.

"Nothing," Daryl smirked. "You going to eat all those? Just find it funny with you busting my balls and all."

"First of all, eww. Don't even mention me and your balls in the same sentence. Actually make that me and anybody's balls. Second of all, these?" Tara waved her hand at the box of cupcakes with all the exaggerated flourish of a game show hostess and rolled her expressive eyes. "Most of these are for my niece. Her douche canoe father disappointed her yet again, and as usual, it's Aunt Tara to the rescue. And my dad's terminal, so whatever he wants, he gets. Within reason," she quickly clarified. "So to answer your question, Dixon, no. I'm not going to eat any of the cupcakes unfortunately. They're not for me. Walsh would have my ass."

"Forget I asked." Daryl held his hands up in mock surrender. "Sore subject. That prick your boss or something?"

"Or something," Tara muttered, accepting his half-assed non-apology without further comment on the matter and absently stroking her fingers again through the kid's hair.

Daryl watched her pat each messy strand back into place before rolling his eyes and asking, "You know he's not a puppy, right?"

The corners of Tara's mouth curled slyly, and she tilted her head as she considered him and Merle, who'd yet to take notice of them through the bakery's storefront window from his sidewalk vantage point. "I don't know about that," she quipped. "I thought all you Dixons were dogs."

Daryl folded his arms across his chest with an amused twitch of his lips. "Taking it I should be offended."

"I don't know about that." Tara grinned outright, fingers abandoning the little shit's sandy mop finally to reach for the dwindling stack of flyers tucked beneath the corner of his coffee cup. "I like dogs. Lots of people do." She sobered a bit as she glanced over the sheet of paper, and her big brown eyes welled with sympathy as she looked back up at him, at Merle now looming over his shoulder. She softly repeated the teasing words, this time as a means of comfort. "Lots of people do. I can take a few of these. Help put them up around town. Somebody has to have seen her."

"I knew I liked you, Shambles."

"It's Chambler."

The rote reply was soft with exasperation, and the twinkle in Tara's eyes belied a fondness for his brother that left Daryl in head shaking disbelief. "It's been almost a week. What if none of this works?"

"It's gonna work, Baby Brother. It has to."

 

~*~

 

The park was surprisingly quiet for a sunny Saturday afternoon in August. 

Daryl supposed it could have something to do with the bone melting Georgia heat, but maybe that was just him. He was half convinced the only reason he hadn't spontaneously combusted into flame already was the fine sheen of sweat that slicked his body from the roots of his hair to what felt like his toes. But it wasn't like he could blame his deteriorating mood solely on the hellish weather conditions. No, he wished he could say it was and leave it at that, but he couldn't. The hard truth of the matter? He was fast losing patience with Merle's domestic daddy bullshit. 

Even the kid looked tired of it, miserable and mopey with grains of sand coating his skin like a fine candy dust. His round cheeks were the same shade as the fresh ketchup stain on his collar, his hair limp against his forehead, and those watchful blue eyes of his didn't even seem to notice the army of ants launching an attack on the foil wrapped remains of his lunch nearby. 

Daryl sighed and swept his fingers through his own damp locks, squinting against the brightness of the sun and wishing for the hundredth time he'd remembered to bring along his shades. Glancing over at his brother, he huffed out a humorless laugh. "Man, what's got into you? Dixons don't do picnics. Where you hiding the damn pod?"

"You makin' this into some Body Snatchers shit?" 

"You saying it ain't?" Daryl snapped back. "I know you. And this? This ain't you." Merle looked affronted, and as Daryl watched, he stood up and walked around the park bench to put some distance between them.

"Maybe you don't know me so good no more, Darylina. Ever think of that? Four years…hell, four years is a long time." 

"A lot can happen in four years," Daryl gruffly conceded the point. 

"You're fuckin' tellin' me," Merle hissed, tossing a significant glance toward the sand pit and the boy, valiantly pretending not to be hanging on their every word. "Not here," he warned.

Daryl followed him when he walked a few feet away, sparing a brief moment to check on the little shit, make sure he was still easily within their line of sight. He picked anxiously at his thumbnail as he waited for his brother to unload on him. It took a few minutes of pacing before Merle calmed down enough to do just that. 

"I been thinkin'." 

"Thinking's good," Daryl interjected when Merle looked at him, as if waiting for some sort of contribution on his part. "It's smart. What've you been thinking about exactly?" The look he received for that apparently asinine question had him sighing in reluctant apology. "Right. So this thinking you've been doing? It change your mind about anything?" 

"Officer Friendly and his buddy Walsh would sooner lock me up and ask questions later. There's gotta be another way, somebody else we can trust to handle this real delicate like. I can't take the chance, let Sam fall back into that abusive asshole's clutches." 

Daryl groaned, took a deep, lung-expanding breath before replying. "Look, Man." He paused, nodding his head ever so slightly as he gathered his thoughts together, tried to create some semblance of order out of the whole confusing mess so that he might appeal to his brother's better sense but it was too late, really. Merle was already emotionally attached, and feelings had always fucked with brother's head more than even the pills. There was little chance anything he had to say was going to get through to the asshole, but he had to at least try. "Maybe this isn't even your fight. Maybe you should let the police handle it. Just hear me out, okay," Daryl implored, catching hold of Merle's forearm when he moved to pull away. "I've been doing some thinking too, and I'm not as convinced, Merle. I'm not 100% sold that we need to get involved any more than we already have. This guy…he obviously has a history of violence. He's bad news. I get that. Just like our old man. I…" 

Merle cut him off with a pained growl. "I'm not doin' it. I'm not lettin' those keystone cops handle shit. If I let that boy go, it'll be just like failin' you all over again. I can't do that, Little Brother. I won't." 

Uncomfortable with the dark, fraught turn of their conversation, Daryl looked away, but only for the briefest of moments. His throat felt tight as he forced the words out, "I'm not saying we give him back." 

"The fuck you mean then?" 

What the fuck did he mean? Daryl wasn't even sure himself anymore. He didn't do kids. There were very valid reasons for that. If his brother couldn't recognize them, then it was his own damn fault. He made to leave, but this time it was Merle grabbing hold of his arm. Daryl shrugged him off and kept walking, his brother hot on his heels. 

"You wantin' to just hand him over to social services? That it? Dump him in the system and wash yer hands of him because of yer issues? I didn't raise you to be no coward." 

Daryl whirled on him, his blue eyes wild and his voice heated. "You didn't raise me at all!" Nostrils flaring, breath puffing harshly from his lips, he stared into his brother's stricken face until he could bear it no longer. Merle's raspy whisper held all the power of a gunshot when it came, and Daryl felt his heart clench right along with his throat. 

"You raised yourself." 

"I raised myself," Daryl agreed quietly with a jerk of his chin. "Neither one of us is equipped to raise that little boy, Merle. You know that. Sam deserves better." 

"Shit. Sam. Shit!" 

Merle's eyes grew wide, and the panic written plainly on his face had Daryl's gut churning before he even turned around to see what his brother saw, or more aptly, what he didn't see. 

The little pain in the ass was gone, the only evidence he'd even been there the mound of milling ants on a crumpled piece of foil. 

Fuck. 

 

~*~

 

The swings were empty, the slide turned up a vaguely familiar Bambi-eyed little blond writing love notes or some such shit in a bulging diary that she promptly closed with a soft shriek when Merle scared the hell out of her by banging on the metal slide with his prosthesis. The woods were too dark and intimidating, the pond too calm with no telltale ripples on its surface, and Daryl was just this side of giving up when he heard the high pitched giggles, the unmistakable splatter of water hitting the ground. 

"Oh, the splash pad. Why didn't I think of it sooner?" 

Daryl distantly heard his brother ask the little blond—Doc Greene's youngest daughter as it so turned out—the whereabouts of the splash pad, but he was already on his way, already there and bent at the waist panting for breath when he got a glimpse of the little shit, soaked to the skin and standing by a pig-tailed little girl. Got a glimpse of her, just as drenched. 

Merle staggered up behind him, equally as winded, and his gasping growl was almost indecipherable. "He needs his little ass blistered." 

"The old man did worse for less," Daryl muttered. "No cartoons for a week?" 

"Rest of the weekend," Merle amended. "Don't see you volunteerin' to keep him entertained," he tossed back as he straightened and made his approach. 

Daryl was slower to follow. Carol didn't see him at first. Merle had her and the busty blond by her side pretty well occupied, all teeth and smiles, all snakelike charm. It gave him a chance to really look at her, drink her in, and Daryl was parched. 

Her feet were bare, the pale, pretty legs of his fantasies on display in a tiny pair of frayed cutoffs that hugged her shapely ass. Just a peek of cute belly button beneath her snug red tank top, the lightly freckled swell of two perfect handfuls beneath the water-slick hollow of her slender throat and the graceful shadow of her collar bones, and fuck, holy mother of…

"You must be Daryl." Pale eyes appraised him as he rubbed his hand over the rough denim of his jeans before folding her smaller, more delicate one between his dampened palms. A blond ponytail bobbed with the tilting of her head. "I'm Carol's friend Andrea." 

Completely off-kilter, Daryl nodded and replied, "I'm Daryl." 

The corners of Andrea's generous mouth twitched with amusement. "You're Daryl." 

Daryl coughed to clear his throat, somehow more sure than ever he'd been caught red-handed in his admiration, and awkwardly ground out, "That'd be me." His eyes darted over to Merle, watching him make a fool out of himself with that ingratiating shit-eating grin of his, and Carol, giving him that sweet, shyly sexy smile of hers, and he could barely suppress a groan, again silently damning himself for reverting back to self-conscious adolescence in the presence of his asshole brother and a pretty woman. Turned out, he wasn't the only one that noticed. 

"I don't think he's going to say anything," Andrea spoke softly. "And Carol…well, she has no idea." 

Slate blue eyes zeroed in on her. 

"You're not the confident charmer I saw chatting her up last night. But you are. Interesting." 

"You get paid for that profound bullshit?" Daryl smirked, folding his arms across his chest. 

"No," Andrea shook her head. "I get paid to cut through the bullshit for a jury. What about you, Daryl? What do you do for a living?" 

Daryl opened his mouth to respond, almost against his will, when Carol swooped in to the rescue, her blue eyes dancing and her cheeks tinged pink. 

"Objection, Counselor. Daryl's not one of your witnesses on the stand. Stop the interrogation, please, and leave him alone." 

"How about I leave you both alone?" Andrea suggested with a small, indulgent grin. 

True to her word, she left them alone not even a minute later, commandeering Merle to take the little shit and the dripping wet chatterbox in search of some dry towels; Daryl felt like he needed a buoy when he felt himself slipping deeper and deeper into the undertow of her ocean eyes. 

"She means well," Carol told him softly, combing the stray damp curls slipping free from her loosely bound bun behind her ears. "She's just…overprotective of me and Sophia since the divorce." 

She worried that bottom lip of hers between the pearly cage of her teeth like she'd revealed too much, but there was a hint of hopefulness in her eyes that slowed the lava flow of blood through Daryl's veins and wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed. "She's right to be, Sweetheart. You're too…" She stepped closer to him then, so close he could count her long lashes, so close he could feel the heat of her and the breath of her against his overheated skin, and he lost all rational train of thought, swept up in a maelstrom of feeling, of heat and longing and a sudden need so overpowering he had to close his eyes against it. Goddamn, what was this woman doing to him? 

"Too what? Daryl?" 

"Too…everything." Auburn brows bunched adorably, and Daryl could barely resist the urge to sooth his fingers over their delicate arches, trace the map of the freckles scattered across her fair skin. He took a deliberate step backward, but she followed him as if by some unconscious, magnetic force, and he sighed as she continued her gentle prodding. 

"What does that even mean? Tell me." 

"Too everything," Daryl attempted. "Too sweet, too good, too perfect." He left the for me unsaid. 

She laughed, girlishly flattered at his simplistic praise. "You don't know me, Daryl Dixon. I'm hardly any of those things you think I am." 

"You keep telling yourself that." 

 

~*~

 

Later that night, with the kid tucked in to bed next door and Merle snoring down the hall, Daryl waited for Abraham's call. 

The digital clock on the nightstand flashed and flickered, a casualty of the thunderstorm that'd rumbled and rolled through a couple hours previous, and rain still dripped and drizzled down the foggy pane of glass, misted lightly through the screen of the cracked window. The cordless telephone beeped and chirped as its battery slowly died. 

When the screen finally lit up, Daryl tucked the phone between his ear and his scrunched shoulder, muffling the sound of its ringing and answering in a sleep roughened voice. "Yeah. Right back atcha, Gingerbread. About that. This family business is going to take a little longer than I originally thought."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's been such a long time in between updates. With the way the show's been playing out on our screens, I've been struggling mightily to find motivation and almost hung up the towel permanently. But I got some insightful advice from a fellow Caryler around these parts, and viola!
> 
> I'm not going to claim this is a work of art by any means, but I hope you do find it enjoyable. 
> 
> Thanks so much for the lovely feedback, kudos, etc., and just reading period!
> 
> Love you all.

**Author's Note:**

> So...more than a week of struggling to get the next chapter of The Wonder just right produced this. I just started writing and kept writing and kept writing, lol. 
> 
> I guess this fic is the manifestation of my own frustration that Carol and Daryl have yet to meet in my other story, haha. As I'm sure you've already figured out, it's another AU. I've already tweaked several things in this particular universe containing our beloved characters, and I can only hope the changes have been enjoyable to read.
> 
> Right now I'm going to set the rating at T, but there's definitely the potential for it to be upped in the future, so stay tuned. 
> 
> Let me know if you're interested in reading more, or if this idea is a total bust. Any similarities to any other stories out there is purely unintentional and possibly unavoidable in the strictest sense because I have read a lot (a lot) of FF with these two and characters across multiple fandoms. 
> 
> It goes without saying that any recognizable characters from TWD don't belong to me whatsoever and I'm only borrowing them for my own amusement. If I owned them, our baes would have kissed aldamnready. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> P.S. I'm not so sure of the title. It made sense for some of what I have planned later, but I'm not married to it, so don't be surprised if it changes at a later date. Unlikely but possible.


End file.
